Cellmates
by CrazyRayRay113
Summary: Loki has been content to rot away in his cell until the end of his eternity, but after a year in solitude, he receives an unexpected guest - a new cellmate after all this time. Naomi has no idea why she's been kidnapped, but she now finds herself in captivity. And to make life even more interesting, only a single pane of glass separates her from the self-proclaimed God of Mischief.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfiction ever posted... be gentle with me :3

It has not been officially beta'd (though I reread it like five hundred times) so if you see any errors I have missed, please let me know!

Also note that this thing doesn't break into chapters very well. It's mostly small breaks that often switch the points of view and while it fits in the context of the story, it doesn't fare well when chopped into chapters. Prepare for inconsistent chapter lengths and a need to reread the end of the previous chapter. Apologies in advance!

P.S. The mature warning is for later chapters... you are safe for now )

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It still surprised him how stirringly silent it could be down here. With all that went on above, not a single sound reached him until the doors to the dungeons unlocked. At which point, the entire room echoed with the sounds of armor clanking in time to the step that hurried down the stairs. It would be a young servant escorted by two guards. They would leave him with a meal three times a day and without so much as a word, they would leave again. The same cacophony of clattering metal and a quick step would fade up the stairwell again until he was once again left sitting in silence with nothing more than his thoughts for entertainment.

That had been his schedule for well over a year now. And the only deviation from this mundane existence was the occasional visits from his mother and the infrequent ones from his brother. The conversations were hardly worth the time – although he had much to spare. Frigga came always with the intent of consolation. She never lost faith in him, even though he'd given up on reconciliation long ago. She ensured that, despite being imprisoned, he wasn't exactly suffering. She came with books and stories of all that went on above while he remained in captivity. On the other hand, his brother came with mundane conversation to which he didn't respond. He was a fool to think their relationship was in any way salvageable.

Loki glanced toward the stairs, shifting only slightly where he sat against the stone column in the farthest corner. Despite not knowing the exact time, he knew his dinner was due any minute. Any moment, he would hear the door unlatch at the top of the stairs and the routine would continue. But still, not a sound. He craned his neck to ensure he hadn't simply misheard. Nothing. Though he couldn't see the door from anywhere in his cell, the shadows remained undisturbed – it was only one solid mass that still remained unbroken. He wasn't really hungry, but the sudden lack of order intrigued him. _What in the realm could have possibly delayed them from so simple a task?_ A few thoughts swirled momentarily. Ultimately he didn't care enough to pursue the ideas any further.

Anyway, his thoughts were soon interrupted by the door finally unlatching. The sounds, however, that traveled down the stairs to his waiting ears, were nothing near to what he expected. It was the quick step of the guards along with someone else. Someone being dragged down here against her will. Most assuredly not the average servant girl. He could hear her fussing and fighting, though the guards remained silent. He watched in his periphery as they came into view. The same two guards and a young woman he didn't recognize. She wore clothes unbecoming of this realm and it seemed she wasn't here by choice. He also noted she wasn't wearing any shoes. _Odd._ She tugged insistently against the firm hold on both of her wrists and shoulders, though her efforts were futile.

The guards ignored her empty threats and obscenities as they forcefully tossed her into the cell adjoining his. She fell to the floor in an unceremonious fashion, but was quickly back on her feet, slamming her fists against the glass. She pounded at it until the glass cracked and sliced her hands. But she could only stare as it reformed before her very eyes, until the sheet of glass was solid again. With that, the guards turned and went back the way they came, paying him no mind. He listened until they latched the door shut and then his attention returned to her.

She nursed the bleeding wounds in her hands, pressing them against her shirt. The white fabric was instantly stained with scarlet. Her panicked eyes desperately searched the room, flying back and forth, her head hardly keeping up. He could almost hear her thoughts rattling around in her tiny, fragile skull. _Find a way out – any means of escape. _Loki knew full well she wouldn't find one. If this glass prison had managed to contain him for this long, a pathetic mortal had no chance of escape. Regardless, she returned to her feet and quickly searched the room. After a few long moments, she eventually came to the same conclusion. Her chest heaved as the panic pressed on, her bleeding hands still fussing with her shirt. But she stilled completely when she saw him. Her dark brown eyes looked perplexed. It seemed for a moment that she might say something – perhaps inquire as to what he was doing here. She took some peace of mind knowing that she wasn't alone. Of course, when Loki looked away with disinterest, she went back to her fussing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she went to the tiny bench against the wall, quickly taking a seat. She was on her feet again mere seconds later, her hands fervently digging in her pockets. She piled a few things on the bench before sitting down again, this time with a tiny bottle in one hand. Yanking the cap off with her teeth, she squeezed some clear liquid onto the cuts of her hands. He couldn't really read the label at this distance, but it looked like it said crazy glue. Though that didn't really sound correct. It certainly didn't sound like something used for dressing wounds.

When she had finished, she carefully placed the bottle among her other, now treasured, items: her ring of keys, a small electronic device, a black leather wallet, and some kind of pen. The majority of it was useless now. She said something under her breath but he couldn't tell what. Looking around again, he felt her gaze settle on him. He didn't look up. But they both trained their eyes on the stairs when the door opened again. This time it was the noises he remembered: two guards and the servant with his dinner. They puttered quietly down the steps as they had three times a day for hundreds of days.

His new cellmate was on her feet again, pacing like a caged animal as they approached. She had her pen tight within her grasp as if it somehow made her look threatening locked inside of a glass box. She needn't worry. On this trip, they wanted nothing to do with her. She watched intently as they crossed to his side of the cell.

He almost grinned at the way they all averted their gaze as he stared. He may have been a prisoner, but his authority and his predominantly horrific repertoire still made people nervous. Even with a thick layer of glass between them and his magic thoughtfully contained. With a short bow, she stepped into his cell through a temporary opening in the glass. She set out his food, collecting the dishes from the one prior. Her gaze was still centered on the floor as she hurried back out again. The glass resealed and the magic barrier remained unbroken. And then they moved back up the stairs again.

Loki glanced, only briefly at the tray of food that had been set out for him. Same old gruel. He didn't care for it since he'd been banished. Like everything else of this realm, it left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd pick at it later.

He caught her watching him again. Most likely still trying to get a grasp on her situation. Or possibly eyeing his food. When he quirked a tiny grin, she turned away in a huff and went back to her pacing. Humans were such curious creatures. The obvious always seemed to elude them, even at the best of times. She did a good fifteen laps around her cell before coming to the conclusion that she had nowhere to go. There wasn't some secret to this place that she was missing. She was trapped. Same as he was. Whether she knew it or not.

This couldn't be real, Naomi thought. The prospect of kidnap was real. The idea of captivity was real. But everything in between, along with some unimaginable details, simply couldn't be real. _It's not real. It's only a dream – or a nightmare._ Even after learning that they assuredly weren't alone in this universe, it was still unbelievable on so many levels. And yet, she knew she wasn't on Earth anymore. Far from it. _It's not real. It can't be real. _Pausing in her twentieth lap around the tiny glass prison, she tried to gather her thoughts. _This can't be real._ They were still careening far from the straight and narrow. She pressed her palms against her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling them shakily past her lips. _This can't be real._

Once her breath was somewhat settled and she wasn't actively suppressing the need to vomit, her thoughts regrouped into something partially legible. _How did this happen?_ How could a simple walk home have gone so totally wrong? _How did this happen? _It hadn't been a long walk, in fact it was rather short, but it still made her nervous every time she took it.

Returning from her friend's house around the corner, she was on edge but she'd never thought anything could actually happen. _And certainly nothing like this. _In a secluded neighborhood like hers, the threat of being attacked was virtually non-existent. But it was so dark with the recent loss of the only light pole. Now a street once well lit was pitch dark and that made every shadow a monster and every noise a threat. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tightened her grip on the pen until her knuckles turned white. It was one of the best gifts she had ever received – a tactical pen. An inconspicuous weapon that was actually legal. Without it, her confidence on such walks would have bottomed out long ago.

She was almost home. Only half a block to go. So close but not yet close enough. Her bare feet brushed silently against the asphalt as she walked, the rubber of her shoes squeaking against each other where they hung from her slightly curled fingers. Her long auburn hair was loose and she tensed whenever a stray curl dusted her shoulder. Tonight was so much worse. Her knuckles continued to clench around the carbide-tipped device. It had never seen action, fortunately. She hoped she'd never have to use it – to find out if she was capable of protecting herself. Though at this point she was sure a scream would alert her neighbors and she was only a short sprint from her doorstep. Surely this paranoia was unnecessary? Surely.

_How did this happen?_

In hindsight, she should have paid more attention to that insistent tug on her gut. The one that told her to run. The one that told her she really was in danger. But how was she to ever think that something otherworldly was stalking her? The events of New York were only a short year passed, but alien abduction still wasn't the first thing on her mind. _Perhaps it should have been._

Naomi glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing but shadows cast by the parked cars and the trees overhead. It was only the lightest rustling. It could have been anything – the wind, a small animal. But in fact it was something much larger. She half turned and found herself pressed against another person that hadn't been there a moment ago. A large hand clamped down over her mouth, smothering her only chance for help. She saw nothing after that. Being overwhelmed with panic, she stabbed with all the force she could muster – though it had very little affect on her attacker. She felt her pen break the skin more than once, but he didn't slow. Despite her state of incoherency, she knew he was a man much larger than she. In the end, she managed one good hit, before her world was turned literally on its head.

_How did this happen? It can't be real._

It was a sudden rush, like being dropped off of a building. No parachute. No beanbag awaiting you at the bottom. A long drop and then – most likely – a neck breaking stop. Braving every rollercoaster in the tri-state area suddenly felt like a mere merry go round ride. Moving at what felt like a million miles an hour, her head spun and she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. Or breathe. In fact, she could barely move at all. And then it was over. In that moment, she felt herself clutching her attacker – him being the only solid object within her reach. Her head was still spinning. There was a sound like an engine powering down and after that there was silence. No, not quite silence, just the persistent ringing in her ears that silenced everything else.

After a moment, when she finally felt it safe to open her eyes, she briefly observed the ornate dome under which she stood before being rushed out into the open. Her eyes, wide with a portentous mix of horror and awe, were overcome with an enormous shining city with sky scraping spires of gold. She admired the unending plane of precious metal for only a moment before being tossed onto the back of a horse suddenly bound at the wrists. She barely had a moment to regain her bearings before the horse took off. It wouldn't have been nearly as jarring if she hadn't been slung across the back end like a saddlebag.

She was left staring at a crystalline rainbow road that glowed under the horse's thunderous hoof beats. It was a bridge running over the ocean. She could hear the waves lapping at a shore she couldn't see. A short glance back the way they'd come and all she saw was stars. Perhaps, that would have struck her as odd if she weren't still completely lost in her own panicked mind. It wasn't until they were engulfed by the enormous city that she realized – she was either tripping _really_ hard or home wasn't where she left it. She nearly choked on the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome her. _What the hell had just happened?_ Her befuddled brain could hardly fathom it.

Her entire body was numb when she was finally removed from the horse. Her midsection was a single unified spasm from being bounced up and down for so long. It was dizzying to be upright again. And so suddenly. Her gut gave another unholy turn. She tried to center her gaze on something stationary, with the hopes of letting the feeling pass. It only got worse. She was standing at the foot of a palace and she was completely surrounded by guards. They were all armed in a manor unbecoming of anything of this century. Anything of this _world_. She vomited. Her captors only briefly withdrew. As soon as she'd lost her entire dinner to the stone underfoot, she was braced by both of her arms and swiftly dragged away.

In the long precession into the bowels of this building, the shock slowly wore off. Regardless of where she was or who – or what – had taken her, escape needed to be the priority. She could already imagine herself being locked in some basement for the rest of her life. Dying alone and forgotten.

She paused in her wandering, chancing another look at her new companion. Well, not alone, she supposed. He was eyeing the food that had been laid out for him. But only for a moment until his rather blank stare settled on nothing again. He quirked an eyebrow, only just catching her stare. His green eyes were almost startling. They were bright emerald pools submerged in an otherwise dank exterior. His long black hair had a look she could only describe as grunge. His skin was deathly pale, his cheekbones very well pronounced. His shirt was rough and tattered and it hung loosely on his frail form. He had the look that any prisoner might. But his eyes – that stare – she hadn't expected. The longer she held it, the more she felt he was reading her thoughts.

She avoided it after that sickening notion, her eyes refocusing on the magical glass. Reaching for it again, her pen still tight in her grasp, she scored it with an X and then watched as the scratches healed over into a once again flawless pane of glass. _This can't be possible._ _This can't be real. _She scratched at it again and again to the same end as a wave of anguish welled up inside her. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She'd done nothing to deserve this fate! With an aggravated yell, she turned and threw the pen across the room. The glass splintered on impact, the steel instrument falling to the floor and rolling away as the glass healed over again.

_This can't be real._ But it was.

"You can't keep me here forever!" Naomi screamed. "You hear me!"

And what exactly was she going to do about it? As far as she knew, she'd found herself on the other end of the wormhole that had swallowed the New York skyline. Her friends and family would already know that she was missing. But they would never find her. _Never._ No one would. She was completely on her own. She was kicking herself for not taking those survival courses in college. They would come in handy right about now. Of course, that kind of survival had more to do with spending months in the wilderness, not being locked in a dungeon by aliens. Her face contorted into an angry scowl. She was doomed to spend the rest of her life in a glass cell. _No. They will not keep me here forever. I will find a way out – even if it kills me!_

Swiftly crossing the room, she picked up her phone. It worked, but there was absolutely no service. That only furthered the idea that Kansas was long gone and she was really stuck at the other end of the rainbow-brick road. She glanced at the time. She could only assume that time still existed. Though it had to have been a tad askew, because according to her clock, she'd already been gone for almost twelve hours. That couldn't be right? She shut almost everything off, in the hope of conserving the 85% battery life she had. It had to last – at least for a little while.

Turning it off, temporarily, she went to retrieve her pen where it had landed. She inventoried the rest of her belongings. Nominal usefulness. There was little she could do down here, aside from survive and hope the right people would be looking for her. She had to have hope that with the events of New York only shortly behind them, someone would be able to help. Someone would have the knowledge enough to find her. All she could do was wait. With a deep breath, she calmed herself, Only a cool head could prevail down here. And she would have to dig deep into her pocket and find new ways to smother that sense of hopelessness if she was to survive. She weighed her pen in her hand as she found an untouched stone column supporting their glass prison. The man in the other cell watched her as she fervently scratched a tally into the stone. The stone didn't heal. Day one was accounted for. The first of so many more to come.

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Well there it is... chapter one... mostly vague character descriptions and a setup but whatever... gotta start somewhere :D Many many many thanks to anyone who read. I would also like to thank the people who read the first few sentences and then skimmed and then read the last few lines and my notes. You're important too! Though I question your methods... ) Teeanks so much!


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't sleep that night. If it really was night. The torches around the room dimmed as if by magic all at once, as the room was bathed in a warm orange glow. Over and over she turned on the tiny cot, but with the sad remains of a mattress, it was like sleeping on a rock. And it wasn't especially warm down here, so the fact there was no blanket made it even worse. She shivered, clutching her clothes. Her tank top and shorts had been appropriate for a warm summer day back home, but now she was really wishing she'd worn a sweatshirt.

Turning over again, she found her cellmate in exactly the same spot, sitting on the floor against the wall beside a very large pile of books. His eyes were closed, but how could anyone sleep like that? And why would he? She had noted already that for some reason, his white cubbyhole was sparsely decorated with furniture that hardly belonged there. And he had a bed. A _real _bed with real bedding and expensive looking sheets. She didn't even concern herself with the idea of fairness. But she felt obligated to wonder why he – who had a bed – was not sleeping in it.

Maybe he was meditating. Though he seemed a bit too relaxed for that. His arms hung lazily over his knees, and his chin almost touched his chest. No way he was conscious. And besides, he hadn't moved in hours. She glanced at his tray of food. After a few moments of careful observation, she could tell someone had at least started fussing with it. But she'd barely caught a wink of shuteye. Surely with this proximity, she would have heard him get up. _I guess not._

He stirred and she quickly turned back over, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't much to look at. Only more brown colored stone.

A few moments passed before she turned over again. Her breath caught in her throat when she met his gaze. The warm light reflected off his eyes as they might a cat's – without thinking, she turned back over. She could have sworn she heard him laugh – low and quiet under his breath. The very _idea_ of the sound gave her chills. She rolled toward the wall, staring into the blaringly white wall, attempting to forget he was there. It didn't work. All she could think was that he was watching her. Even with that layer of glass between them, she didn't feel any safer. Not that she felt safe at all in captivity worlds away from home. But his piercing gaze was the icing on this disgusting cake.

Running a hand over the cold stone, she took a closer look at the cuts on her hands. The glue was a faint pink from the blood and it was already peeling at the edges. She mindlessly picked at it as her mind continued to swirl. The events that took place in New York – all of the news reports she'd seen – filtered through her brain. The attack came out of nowhere. One moment it was simply another day in the city, but the next, an enormous wormhole in the sky was spewing alien creatures that clearly didn't come in peace. A year later the city was still in a state of repair. A year later, they barely had an explanation for what had occurred.

The conspiracy theories rolled in full force. Since the beginning of human civilization, man spoke of beings from another world but there was never any proof to be found. It only made sense that when proof was finally dropped in man's lap, he didn't know how to handle it. In the end, they were all caught with their tails between their legs. So the media swelled with panic and had it not been for this team – the Avengers – the entire world would still be trapped in an unending fear for what they couldn't protect themselves from.

The entire thing was surreal. Even now, after being abducted by aliens and teleported to another planet. For now, she was in this blissful state of acceptance because waking up from this nightmare was still a possibility. She feared that when the reality finally set in, it would be a freak out for the record books.

With that in mind, she was thoroughly enjoying her foggy state of ignorance. She imagined waking up back home, entangled in sheets, face nuzzled in her pillow. This place would only be memory, half remembered from her last REM cycle. In a matter of minutes it would disappear completely. After a long shower and a quick breakfast, her boring routine would resume, but subconsciously she would be thrilled that she was anywhere but here. This imagined horror story. Maybe she'd even call up her sister and regale her with what she could remember. At least someone could be entertained by such misfortunes. Life would go on again. But only until she awoke, still in a very white cell, in a very dark dungeon, and a long long way from home. _Maybe it is real._

Loki decided within a few days that his new roommate was rather entertaining, whether she thought so or not. Much better than the endless silence that preceded her arrival. He observed her in silence as she so naively tried to find a way out of this place. Every time a meal was delivered, she would vainly attempt to catch its curriers' attention. They knew better than to respond and they wouldn't be moved by any threat or provocation. By the time she'd etched three tallies into the stone, her frustration was almost palpable.

Her brow furrowed deeply and both her fists clenched at her sides as the guards disappeared up the stairs again. He had to wonder what her plan was. Win the sympathy of the guards – the servant more likely. She'd be more relatable. More easily swain. She'd attempt to form a friendship that would at some point lead to an escape. Regardless, failure was imminent. If they went to the trouble of bringing her here and holding her here, they weren't going to fall for that. _Foolish mortal._

Just like the night before, she riled herself into a one-woman frenzy, making as much noise as possible, desperate for someone to respond. Not even a second glance as the doors locked shut once again. She kicked the glass wall with a growl and then slid to the floor with a whimper as one of her bare toes gave a loud crack. Her face grew red as she violently massaged it. Her teeth were visibly clenched behind her snarling lips. Her nostrils flared as she took in air in a huff, trying to regain her lapsing composure after aggressively stubbing her toes.

When she finally returned to her feet, she limped. Her last three toes looked purple. She stumbled toward the bench wincing whenever she bumped her latest injury. She sat down, carefully extending her leg along the bench to avoid disturbing it again. She eyed it from afar, already grimacing at the dark and unholy tones. Her crazy glue wouldn't help her this time.

Her big brown eyes were practically burning holes through the glass when she caught his subtle smirk. She sprung from her seat, suddenly disregarding the pain in her foot as she stomped – with a gimp – to the glass that separated their cells. "Is something funny?" she demanded. Loki almost rolled his eyes. Her long nails scratched the glass – her nose was almost pressed against it. And her glare only deepened. "I don't know what the hell you're in for. Frankly, I don't care. All I know is that I have _no _reason to be here. And I don't need you making this shit hole even worse with your constant ogling! Leave me the fuck alone!"

Loki finally looked up at her, a wicked grin gracing his face. Ordinarily that was enough, but she only stared back, squinting until her eyes were only slits. Without breaking eye contact, he stood. That alone seemed to surprise her. He rose once more to his towering height –a good foot taller than her. Her form faltered only slightly as her gaze traveled upwards to meet his. He smiled widely as her brow slowly relaxed.

"Poor, naïve, little mortal," he cooed quietly, his voice a mere purr in the darkness. "Thinks herself so immensely important. Have you no idea who I am?" He could tell by her expression she didn't. "I am Loki. I am a _god_ you pathetic meat sack! You are so insurmountably insignificant – a petty prisoner. You want to know why I'm here? You want to know how far a god has to fall to end up down here?" He leaned closer until his breath fogged the glass. But even through the thin film of condensation, he watched the fear pool in the darkening brown of her eyes. "I invaded your worthless realm. I brought an army to your doorstep. I destroyed your city and slaughtered every single person who got in my way. I have been imprisoned for the rest of my life. An unenviable eternity! Now am I in any way deserving of that?" He pressed the toes of his boot against the glass, theoretically hanging over top of her. His smile slowly returned as he spoke again.

"_Ogling_," he chuckled. "I was to be your king and you just another nameless, faceless subject. If I wish to take pleasure in your mirthful antics, than I shall. You try so aptly to play the part of cool and confident and composed, but you abandon all of that for the sake of aggression and some meaningless show of force. You can't even think through your thick skull, how can you hope to think your way through an enchanted pane of glass? Pity," he spat, "that your intellect doesn't measure up to the form you so vagrantly flaunt." He gave her a very obvious perusal. She was still too wrapped up in his admission of attempted world domination to be too greatly offended. She was something of a sight, her clothes a mess with dried blood, her hair in a similar state of disarray from rolling around on it, and now her increasingly purple little foot. But beneath all that, he saw potential. Sultry curves and such delicate hands. Her teeth bit down on her soft pink lips in contemplation, but her stare was painfully unwavering.

The shock quickly faded – melding back into her sinister glare. Her lips gently parted, she pressed her body against the glass, leaning up on her tiptoes. Or those that were functioning. She lifted her neck, her chin brushing the cell between them. "You don't scare me," she said quietly. "I'm going to give you one motherfucking show," she growled. "_Loki._"

Well, that was certainly not the response he'd been expecting.

He leaned away, watching her go. She turned, limping back across her cell. She seemed remarkably unconcerned that he had attempted to take over her planet. And even less concerned with his verbal abuses. She simply stood there and embraced such things as compliment or fuel to the fire more likely. She hadn't blushed out of embarrassment. Nor had she really cared to rebuke him for his assumptions and observations. The words merely slipped over her shoulders before dispersing into the emptiness of this dungeon prison. She didn't care. She curled up on her cot, her hair cascading over the edge, her foot carefully placed out of harm's way. And she was quiet after that.

Such a peculiar woman. Melodramatic and overzealous. _Overconfident is more like it_. One moment quiet and the next fuming for all the world to see. And what would that gain her? Certainly not the attention she sought. A show? He laughed quietly to himself, watching her feign sleep. So transparent. Pathetically predictable as with the rest of her ignorant race. Slimy, backhanded creatures that would blindly impale each other just as soon as bond in camaraderie. And he meant to rule them. Such a thing that in hindsight seemed both impossible and completely undesirable. It would have been a headache, second only to the one he received daily from the unyielding silence preceding and the present predicament invoked by his charming new companion.

He called to mind her flustered expression as she attempted to throw some sort of half-witted rebuttal his way. A show, he thought again. Perhaps there was hope for her yet. _A show?_ His countenance twisted mirthfully. _Have it your way, love. I'm looking forward to it._


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is way short... yet another example of how this story resists being chopped into chapters... /

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She didn't speak to him. Two whole days had passed and she'd barely glanced in his direction. After breakfast, he found her sprawled out on the floor in the middle of her cell. Silently, she doodled on the floor, her legs gently rocking behind her as her cheek rested heavily on her wrist. Over the course of an hour he had migrated across the room trying to see what she was drawing. From where he now sat, slumped in his chair, legs slung over the ottoman, he could make out a few cartoonish figures and obscure abstract creations. Her hair concealed her current addition, but it had to be a mural considering how long she'd been working on said masterpiece. Occasionally, he thought he could hear her humming a tune he didn't know. Something disgustingly cheery.

She was intently focused on her work, until the door upstairs unlatched. It was a bit early for lunch, Loki thought. The lack of guards was also surprising, but he quickly recognized that step. He growled, slouching further into his slump. _Thor._ His cellmate glanced up when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I come bearing lunch, brother." Loki didn't even look up, only continued to blankly stare at the other side of the cell. "Are you going to speak to me today? Or do you plan on ignoring me? As per usual."

"That depends," he said gruffly. "Do you intend to say anything worthy of my reply, _brother_?"

"So your mood has not improved then. Spectacular." He set the tray down, folding his arms over his chest.

"I don't know why you come down here," Loki growled.

"Because you're my brother," Thor quickly replied. He clenched his fist, still loathing that lie of endearment. "Perhaps it's pity."

"I don't need your damn sympathies, Thor!" He stood up, crossing the cell in two long strides, nearly knocking the chair over. "I am perfectly content rotting to my death down here. So until such time I need my corpse dragged out, I have little need of your self-indulgent visits."

"Thor?" A quiet word from the room's only other occupant broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. "You – you're one of the Avengers. You helped save New York. You helped save my planet," she continued, coming back to her feet. She came to where she could better see him, her face suddenly lit up with some foolish glimmer of hope. "I'm from Earth – I've been kidnapped." Loki watched the mighty Thor suddenly squirm. He wouldn't even look at her. He glanced, but just as soon turned his attention to the tray of food. Or something else unworthy of such attention. "Please – I haven't done anything wrong. Could you help me? Tell someone that this is a mistake. Please."

Loki pulled a wild grin, eagerly awaiting his brother's prosaic response, which he already saw brewing behind his shamefully averted eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized solemnly, absently probing the food on the tray. "But it's not my place to help you. The order was not mine to make, I'm afraid." Loki frowned. That was a bit of an odd response. Not his usual drawl. _It wasn't his place? _Surely if he was this uneasy, modestly avoiding the question, he had someone managed to get his hand stuck in whatever it was. _Norn-forsaken oaf._

With a new sense of resolve, Thor shoved the tray through the glass, only slightly disturbing its contents in the process. "Perhaps you'll be more cheerful another time," he said quickly.

That was doubtful. Cheerful was a mood he did not often indulge. But seeing his brother so laughably befuddled was so amusing that it was almost possible.

He turned, his cape billowing in his wake and he hurried toward the stairs. So eager to escape their company all of the sudden. Loki turned back to her once he'd gone. "Well, so much for that fervent escape attempt." No response. "I should thank you. Never in my life have I gotten him to shut his gaping trap so quickly."

Once again, she hadn't really acknowledged him. Instead, he found her stare intently fixated on the tray of food set out on the table behind him. He heard her stomach give a single very loud growl. It had escaped his notice prior to now, but she hadn't been fed since being brought here. Glancing at the tallies scraped into the stone, he noted it had been nearly six days already. Considering that fact, she was fairing remarkably well. "Hungry?" he asked.

She shot him a dirty look in passing. She went back to her new spot on the floor, settling down on her belly and continuing to doodle without so much as a second glance. Certainly wasn't the impetuous quip he was expecting. She simply went back to her drawing, which he still couldn't identify. After a moment, he stood, puttering casually toward the glass wall between them. He nonchalantly examined her artwork. It wasn't the uniform masterpiece he'd been expected; instead it was a mish mosh of a thousand tiny doodles. Swirls and animals and a hundred other things he couldn't identify. He spotted a few words written in an overly decorative script. Currently, she seemed to focus on what was possibly a horse. The angle was too odd to know for sure.

"Not to worry, darling, I'm sure they have to feed you eventually."

"Fuck. You." She etched a few more dark lines as her stomach growled again.

Loki smiled, having finally elicited a response. She'd held up even longer than he thought. "Perhaps they'd be more inclined to listen to you if you weren't so stubborn. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned here, little one."

"I have no shortage of humility, but I appreciate your concern, princess."

He felt the sting – the lash of a tongue as sharp-witted as his own. Though she remained entirely expressionless, her tone was dripping with sarcasm. Though her wit was staggeringly dry. When her returns were thoughtful, she played the role of a worthy adversary. But only the role. "It's a shame," he thought aloud. "I would wager you look marvelous on your knees." The imagery was astounding. She quirked an eyebrow, but still withheld her gaze. "Begging for your life," he amended.

"Is that what you'd like?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "To have dominion over anything willing to bow down at your feet? To be freely served by each and every petty creature that crosses your path?"

"Petty creature," he laughed. "Don't be so modest. You, my dear, are a prize." She finally looked up – a strange mix of confusion and disbelief all carefully masked with disdain. "In spite of your obvious lack of restraint, you have a strong heart, brimming with pride – a spirit not so easily swain or broken. It presents a particular challenge, but one well worth its results. Some day I'll see you in your rightful stead."

Her eyes were ever so challenging. She returned the cap to her pen and slowly sat up and in the most methodical way possible. He couldn't help but stare as she contorted back into a seated position, her hands gingerly fixing her hair and purposefully neglecting the collar of her shirt that was now remarkably lower than it was supposed to be, as she settled at last onto her knees. She looked up at him sideways, with a purely devilish look in her eyes. "Like this?" she asked coyly.

"Something like this," he returned with a grin.

She edged a bit closer, moving on her hands and knees until she was only an arm's length from the glass. "So this is what pleases the would-be-king?" Loki was silently wishing this pane of glass no longer stood between them. He could only imagine being locked in the same room with her for any amount of time. "And what would you have me do?"

If only she knew. His entire body tensed, though he did well to hide it, as his imagination ran of its own accord and his heart pumped white-hot blood through his veins until his pale white skin almost flushed. It nearly startled him – the vigor with which her mere suggestion took hold. She was stunning like this, gazing up at him oh so longingly. Her voice was like that of a siren, making him sway in her direction whether he wanted to or not. Who was controlling whom? She threw half a smile his way, her long eyelashes dusting her cheeks with every alluring blink of her eyes. Petty creature? She was a demon in disguise.

Visions of her naked form coursed through his brain – bound and gagged and his for the taking. _His._ He imagined her so utterly submissive, playing his game oh so perfectly. She would fight – but only just – and in the end, she would give in and love every single minute of it. His name would fall from her lips over and over again until her sultry voice was coarse like gravel. Such dulcet tones gave him chills. He could hear her gasp her allegiance to him, words broken by his every touch – his every whim. _Only his._ He could tease her until she came apart at his hands – her mind undone until her thoughts were solely focused on him. Until she knew nothing else. And then she would be his to control. _His._

She made a small noise and his eyes found hers again. She was still awaiting an answer. He quickly reigned in his careening restraint. "You would serve me," he finally replied, "in every way that I see fit. You would do so loyally and without hesitation or question. You would make me the envy of the whole of my court. And I would make you mine – and _only_ mine." He stared into her dark and doleful eyes.

"Only yours?" she questioned quietly.

"_Mine_," he growled.

She smiled, showing off a few of her pearly white teeth. And then all at once, she reverted back to her former self. She hopped back to her feet, casually strolling away. "Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but I belong to _no one_."

Even as she disappeared into the private bathroom, he saw the way she swaggered across the room. She had gotten through to him in a place he didn't think possible. _Little minx._ His entire existence here had suddenly become infinitely more interesting. The game was afoot.

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Sexual frustration! O_o That is all.


	4. Chapter 4

I was going to wait until later to post this... but I don't feel like waiting. (And I just reached 600 views apparently?! How that's possible I have no idea.) So I have to post it now so I can work on my costume and a hundred other school projects before I sink into an inevitable stress coma... O_O _Why do I do this to myself..._

THANK YOU ALL YOU FOLLOWERS AND FAVORITERS AND REVIEWERS! Every single one means the world to me! And while I am still terrified every time I post a chapter, your views and comments are so very reassuring and have made the terror worthwhile! 3 3 3

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The next morning she awoke with a renewed sense of energy. Maybe things weren't so bad, she thought as she was reminded of Loki's near tortured aura the night before. Subtle details proved so much in an otherwise well concealed hunger. His teeth were clenched tighter than the hands fisted into an ever-whitening grip at his sides, unmoving except for the twitch in his fingers as he was smothering a subconscious need to touch – to reach for. Her skin had warmed at the thought, but the power he offered her kept the blush at bay. His positively possessive nature was almost endearing. Almost.

This was the first time she'd actually caught him asleep, sitting up and habitually ensuring he wasn't creeping or doing something otherwise awkward and mischievous. Up until now, she'd simply assumed he was rooted to the floor where he usually sat, unless he was harassing her of course. But with the remarkably early hour he was still asleep, laid out on his comfy looking bed - _jerk_. He looked dead. Like a corpse. Sleeping flat on his back with his hands folded across his stomach, he was reminiscent of a vampire peacefully awaiting nightfall. Like at any moment his eyes would snap open and he would swiftly sink his teeth into someone's neck. Then he would laugh with a stereotypical Transylvanian accent. No. Probably not that.

Odds were he wasn't even sleeping; his expression never seemed to relax. But he came a bit closer this time. His chest rhythmically rose and fell. If she was quiet enough she could hear him softly breathing, undisturbed by the morning to come. She checked her phone. She had maybe half an hour before the lights woke him up. Stashing her things, she quickly slipped into the tiny private bathroom she had been afforded. It was only half private. The guards could see her if they had been present, but Loki couldn't – thankfully. It was barely an airplane bathroom. With an additional space for a shower. There was a towel folded on the toilet and there were a few amenities sitting behind the sink. _How kind of them, she thought. Have the decency to provide me a toothbrush but no food._ That was painfully ironic. She tried to push the hunger pangs aside, wondering briefly if toothpaste was edible, only to find there wasn't any. _Stupid dry toothbrush. Stupid useless dry toothbrush. Stupid stomach. Stupid hunger. _There was nothing to be done about it and she could only hope she'd be over the hump soon. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure she wasn't being watched, she began to undress.

Her shirt was a mess, still stained with blood from her first day here. She ran the fabric under the open faucet and rubbed at it until it dulled from ruddy brown to a pinkish hue. Her shorts were all right, aside from needing to be washed. She briefly rinsed them as well and hung them beside her shirt. Finally stripping off the rest of her clothes, she untied her hair and started fussing with the shower. The thing was barely a showerhead and a drain.

The water was almost lukewarm when it finally turned on and she instinctually recoiled with shock. After a few minutes of getting used to it, she started scrubbing herself down, in the hopes of feeling slightly less gross. It was unlikely. The thought alone of being locked in a dungeon made her feel grimy and disgusting. She worked the water through her thick hair, down to the scalp, her fingers catching on all the knots that she didn't have the means to untangle. This was why prisoners maintained shorter haircuts. Her curls were going to turn into dreads in the very near future.

Naomi imagined the look on her mother's face the first time she came home with all of her hair chopped off. It had been both terrifying and hilarious at the same time. Every time afterward, through her teenage years, it became less startling. Although the time she came home with a novel shade of rainbow, she had actually threatened to dye it over again for the sake of her social life. Her mother was almost fond of it after a time, but it pained her to think about it now. The very notion stirred a hundred other disheartening thoughts.

Surely they knew by now that she was gone – kidnapped. The authorities were probably involved now. But there'd be no trace of her to find. No trail to follow. And no one would believe that she'd been abducted by aliens. Although it was more plausible after New York. But even if someone considered it, they wouldn't find her. They couldn't reach her. And as of now, she was doomed to spend the rest of her miserable life barking obscenities through a pane of glass at a man who claimed to be a god and had tried to take over the world.

With an audible sigh, she was certain that if she ever got home, no one would believe any of that.

The water was getting gradually colder, as she forced her thoughts away from home. Her skin formed little goose bumps. She cleaned up with a little more urgency, finding a tune to distract herself with. It helped – minimally. She picked a song almost fitting of the situation, with poetic lyrics about not giving a shit. Her first instinct was usually something more mellow, but under the circumstances that was just going to upset her and stir things up that were better left buried.

When she was moderately satisfied with her state of hygiene, she abandoned the shower and checked her now damp clothes. Still wet. She pulled her underwear back on, listening all the while to hear if her cellmate had stirred. The room was still painfully silent. That wasn't saying much. He moved like a shadow and he would have made an astounding stalker. She craned her neck around the corner. _Smug little bastard._ Loki had returned to his usual spot and he was staring in his usually awkward fashion. He seemed to take satisfaction from simply knowing she was naked. Joke was on him – she actually wasn't. Well, not anymore. She grumbled in order to ignore the chill that rolled up her spine. The thought of his listening – imagining – _fantasizing_.

She feigned a gag and then snatched up the toothbrush, violently scrubbing her teeth. As if the noise might make her forget that he was sitting out there. And just waiting for her to return. What would he say this time? What petty harassment tactic would he employ today? Anything would rattle her, she decided with a grumble. His stare alone did things she didn't wish to overthink. His bright green eyes practically taunted her to look away. The way they looked her up and down – for show or not – was shamefully arousing. How could she help but wonder of his sincerity? With another quick look around the corner, she found his gaze still aggravatingly centered.

Loki smiled sweetly, as if he wasn't panning through a menagerie of disgusting, perverse, sexual thoughts. Rolling her eyes, she wondered if this was all some sort of joke – if his imprisonment was a total lie and their current predicament was all part of some sexual fantasy brought to life. Surely he wouldn't have dragged it out this long? No, their awkward situation was exacerbated, but not intentionally.

Her clothes were still slightly damp, but she was tired of standing there half naked, pondering their odd relationship. Fully clothed again, she finally emerged.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much." She wound the towel around her hair until she had formed a large turban atop her head. That was sort of an exaggeration. She was better off while she was in the shower with a feigned sense of solitude. She sat down on the floor beside her cot, snatching up her wallet and quickly emptying its contents. Having already reorganized it half a dozen times since being here, she knew exactly what was in it. She set everything out in piles before her, putting the bills in piles, placing the credit cards in numerical order, and setting aside the papers she could later use for doodling or any other number of origami-like boredom applications. She really envied his collection of leather bound tomes.

Regressing into the mindset of a child, she found creative ways to keep from losing her mind. She hadn't made a fortuneteller since she was like ten, but a few quick folds and scribbles on an old receipt served as her current form of entertainment. She pondered a hundred stupid yes-or-no questions while flipping the contraption in her hands. _Will I ever get out of here?_ G – R – E – E – N. One – two – three. She pulled back the fold. _Don't count on it._ It couldn't be coincidence she'd gotten the same answer the seventeen times she had asked. Loki watched her curiously, or more specifically, the paper machine in her hands. "What did you do _before_ I got here?" she finally asked.

"Mostly nothing."

Of course. She began folding and unfolding the paper cootie catcher again. He was gradually moving closer until he sat fairly near to the glass. "Did you need something?" Naomi asked without even looking up.

"What _are_ you doing?" He sounded legitimately curious.

"Fortune telling." He looked oddly startled. "Care to ask a question?" She waggled the thing in his general direction.

"What's your name?"

"Nameless subject," was her snarky reply. "Yes or no questions only."

Loki smirked. "Am I ever to escape this wretched place?" Recited like poetry.

"Pick a color." She angled the fortuneteller so he could see his options.

"Red." Black had been her second guess.

R – E – D. She opened the paper accordingly.

"Pick a number. One through four," she instructed.

"Four."

One – two – three – four. "Pick a different number one through four."

"Three."

She opened the flap of his choosing, feigning concentration as she read the entry she'd scribbled inside. "Absolutely not," she said definitively. He frowned. "See for yourself. The fortuneteller has spoken." She pressed the paper to the glass and he squinted to read her mostly terrible handwriting.

"I question your foresight."

"You don't trust my intuition?"

He glared at her as if it were obvious. "I don't trust you at all."

She smiled sweetly. "Shall I assume you have a plan of your own for that escape then? If not you should have more faith in the fortune teller." He didn't respond, only continued to watch as she waved her hand around the cootie catcher as if she were practicing voodoo.

Loki grinned, his eyes turning a very bright green. His hand duplicated her motion, his long fingers making it look much more fluid and practiced. She thought to rebuff him for mocking her, but just as soon as the thought crossed her mind, a green glowing smoke suddenly blossomed around his hand. For a moment she thought she was seeing things. He laughed when he caught her confused expression. His other hand joined and all of the sudden the smoke disappeared and an exact copy of her little paper fortuneteller appeared in his hands – chicken scratch and all. He eyed it curiously, turning it over as if to look for the source of its magic. He copied her action without saying a word, asking a silent query and opening and closing it until he revealed his answer. He smiled at her again – that devious, _dangerous _smirk.

"Fortunately, I will not be entrusting my fate to a scrap of paper." The paper burst into a bright green flame and then it was gone – turned to ash as simply as it had come into existence. Then he stood, brushing off his trousers and moving back to his usual spot against the wall.

She had arrived in this place through a wormhole and was soon after locked in an enchanted cell that healed itself upon every escape attempt. His ability to conjure origami shouldn't have surprised her. Perhaps what really surprised her was the fact that he was contained to this place in spite of having some weird affinity for magic. _Show off._ Maybe he really did have a plan. Maybe he really was like those psychopathic maniacs on TV, just biding his time but all the while completely capable of escape. Unless it was all just part of their game. She rolled her eyes. She was growing tired of it already.

As soon as he retreated into his you're-no-longer-worthy-of-my-attention mood, she felt her renewed sense of energy literally vanish, quickly replaced by strengthened pangs of hunger and homesickness.

Her stomach ached with a prolonged emptiness. It made her entire body feel fatigued. The paper fortuneteller shook in her hands until she let them fall soundlessly into her lap. A headache, that had only been a dull pain in the days past, was quickly evolving into a hunger headache of a debilitating nature. Warily she glanced at the notches in the stone beside her cot. She'd been locked in this cell for more than a week. She'd been without food for just as long. The only time in her life she'd gone that long without food was when she was really sick more than ten years ago. But even then, her overly attentive mother had forced her to nibble on toast and dry crackers. How long could a human live without food? It wasn't something she'd pondered before. She could vaguely recall Gandhi fasting for something like a month. But she could also recall that the speed of starvation was highly circumstantial. It had much to do with weight and body fat and activity levels.

Surely these people didn't intend to let her starve? What purpose would that have served? Why go to such trouble to bring her here only to let her die without cause? She wasn't ready to believe that she could be _dead_ within a few weeks. Perhaps it was their intent to simply torment her and eventually provide her with some form of sustenance. She could only hope. _Just as I had hoped this place was only a dream – a nightmare._

She stilled her shaking hands, ensuring that Loki hadn't noticed. She knew his type: a predator. And not the run of the mill feral dog. He hunted with stealth and silence and cunning only paralleled by the swiftest of killers – the kind that could smell fear and spot weakness a mile away. And she could imagine his heckling jaws clamping down on her neck the very second she showed either one.

Remembering such tensions in her past, her expression steeled instinctually, her every emotion vanishing completely. Watching her elder sister literally tear their family apart, there was little she could do but sit on the sidelines and wait and hold the rest of them together. When there was no alternative but to be strong, she was strong. They emerged on the other side of that conflict as a very different group of people, but she was still strong.

She stared bleakly at the paper in her hands, playing the game again, turning the folds this way and that until she uncurled the last for her answer. _I will not be entrusting my fate to a scrap of paper._ Her teeth clenched as she crushed the little paper device in her hands. Fate or fortune wouldn't save her. Nor would this endless waste of time. So what then? She looked to where Loki sat, lost in his usual funk. Up until now, their few conversations were basically part of this unending pissing contest, but he had to know something. He had a way out. He'd been down here long enough. A year at least. He was her best bet. She clenched her fists tighter as the shaking persisted. _I promised him a show. _And the show would go on.

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I honestly don't know where the fortune teller business came from... it seemed like a bizarrely entertaining scenario. Whether is was or not remains to be seen.

The only thing that irks me about this chapter is not knowing about Asgardian bathroom fixtures (because I worry about these things). I figured bathes would be preferred to showers but that wouldn't make sense in prison... O.o Whatever. It is what it is. If Loki wants a bathtub he can conjure one and while he's at it, how about a magical martini? I am now picturing the weirdest thing ever. If I could draw... this would be hilarious.

P.S. I'm not actually writing that. No magical bathtubs. Or martinis.


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the next one! But before that, I must thank you all so much for your kind reviews! I simply cannot express how much it means to me... I truly appreciate every single favorite and follower xoxoxoxo

And secondly, be forewarned, mild/implied rape ahead... yea... you knew it was coming...

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As the days continued their slow and steady procession, Loki began to wonder when in the realm she was going to run out of things to do. He'd have gone mad by now if it weren't for the books, but she found countless ways to keep herself occupied despite having only a handful of things at her disposal. Today her ring of metal keys was the distraction. Having plucked each one from the ring, she was now lying on the floor and sliding them across it with the apparent intent of getting them within one of the three rings she'd drawn on the floor across the room. She tightly pursed her lips, pinching one eye shut as she readied to send another key to its fate. She moved it left and right until she'd lined it up and then gave it a solid flick of the wrist. For the third time since the game began, she replaced the key occupying the center ring in order to earn points, he assumed. That was, if she was keeping track.

After the seven or so keys were scattered across her makeshift scoreboard, she hopped to her feet and collected them, before returning to her perch and playing again with renewed vigor.

She'd been quiet today. He couldn't even force a witless insult out of her. She seemed remarkably focused on so trivial a task. Which made it all the more surprising when she spoke up without provocation. Still carefully aligning her next projectile, her face totally expressionless otherwise, she asked, "Was there some point to taking over my _pathetic_ planet?"

That was rather blunt. What twisted train of thought had led her to such an inquisition? He could only imagine. "Of course there was a point," he retorted. "I wouldn't have expended such energy and resources for nothing."

"Well, it just seemed like an odd course of action considering how dim-witted and worthless we are. Doesn't do a _god_ much credit to subjugate a bunch of humans."

Loki frowned. _Is she serious?_ For the first time since she'd come here, he was genuinely unsure of her sarcasm. "Midgard was merely a consolation prize, dwarfed by a much higher cause. It was a casualty of war, suffering a self-inflicted wound. Had you humans not been so hungry for power, squabbling like animals in an attempt to wield a force you couldn't hope to control, perhaps you could have avoided the conflict entirely." She pushed another key toward the ink rings as if she weren't even listening. "My original intent had little do to with your _pathetic planet_, as you so aptly put it."

She rolled over, thrusting her arms into the air in silent triumph as she managed to get more than one key in the tiny center circle. He heard her sigh, her hands absently massaging her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. And then her rather deep stare settled on him. She folded her hands across her chest. "So what _was_ your original intent?"

A hundred thoughts flooded his mind, but for some reason none of them stuck. He didn't latch onto any one in particular. Words eluded him. His silver tongue turned leaden in his mouth as he suddenly fumbled for an explanation. It was a quest for the honor he deserved – the power he craved – another chance to prove wrong all those who looked down on him as some petty excuse for a warrior. He meant to rule them, as was his rightful stead in the scheme of the realms. That was his intent? Was it not? Or was that a later developed notion to justify that he was once more wandering in the shadow of another. His lips twisted with disgust. _Thanos thought me a puppet – a pawn, but that was the intent, was it not? _He put the power and the purpose within his grasp asking only for the Tesseract in return. A simple task. A mortal could have accomplished it. So he bought into his scheme with the _intent_ to deviate of his own accord when the timing was right. Means to an end. The intent was to be the last one standing – the one holding all the cards. Only then would he be free of the shade created with the potential of others. This was the intent. Was it not?

_You lack conviction._

Conviction, Loki sneered. _Conviction._ He remembered that man clearly enough, beloved among his fellow suited kinfolk. And now dead like so many others. But as his near last words in life, he made one final jab. _You lack conviction._ Oh no. It was not conviction he lacked. He knew why he'd done it. Out of anger and shame and spite and _hurt_. Revenge. It was a need to be better – to be stronger – after he was so horribly wronged. Disowned and abandoned. Completely forgotten. Sucked into the void to be torn apart by the branches of Ygdrassil, he had nothing but his anguish and the sad inevitability that he would survive that norn-forsaken Hel. And when he washed up on the edges of a world unknown, he was left with little but ambition and hopeless dreams. He wanted nothing more than to see his brother rot for his sufferings.

_You lack conviction._

His intent was clear as an Asgardian night. _I lack conviction? I wanted to watch the world burn! And to see my brother weep at its expense._ But that's not the way it happened. He, yet again, rallied the meager might of Midgard and Loki found himself belittled, outmatched, disrespected. They made a fool out of him. It was a new level of humility. _Never again. I am a god! A king!_ Reduced to prisoner – a captive. What was his original intent? It didn't matter now. He had failed so spectacularly given that being locked in a cell was never his intent.

_You lack conviction._

"I suppose it doesn't matter," she said as if reading his thoughts. "I was only wondering – thinking out loud."

_Probing little minx,_ Loki thought with a growl. Of course it didn't matter. She was scrounging for information. But why? What would it gain her? A more affirmed knowledge that she was inevitably trapped here, perhaps? Or maybe it was merely curiosity. How dangerous a game she played. "Thinking in my specific direction," Loki hissed. "Wonder what you may, I did what I had to do."

"You make it sound like you are not the one to blame."

"Perhaps not."

"Even though you taunt with misplaced pride of your failings?"

Loki scoffed. "While the outcome was not desirable, should I not take pride in being the bane of so many superhuman creatures? I was defeated but only at the expense of so many others."

"But you still lost. How could you take pride in loss, unless you weren't wholly responsible?"

"You are a fool in attempting to make me any less of a villain." She didn't deny that unconscious thought. She was still in this state of not being seriously concerned. "Power is a funny thing," Loki said with an empty laugh. "It's a balance that shifts as simply as sediment; leaders washing away with time, being replaced and forgotten by those who were but menial pawns before. I've spent my entire life serving under someone else, enduring their torture and control in my quest for power. True be it, the idea to attack Midgard was not my own, but believe that I took up that hollow crown willingly, waiting for the day I could rise – no matter the influence to my mind. No matter the consequence. No matter the outcome. There is always a place for pride. I am not the warrior my brother is – or anyone else in this damned realm! I am the trickster – the one who lies and cheats and cares not for some foolish morality. There is always a plan. I take pride in staying one long stride ahead."

He glared down at her, still intently admiring the stonework of the ceiling. "I would prefer not to be a captive," he said matter-of-factly, "but there are worse things. Consequences I've yet to face. Consequences I won't face." He chuckled in a dismal sort of way. "This place is not so bad."

"Did you know what you were doing?"

"What?"

"When you killed those people, did you know what you were doing?"

Still on this pointless crusade.

"Of course. The Aesir are renowned warriors – conquerors. Murders in some manner of speaking. I may not be standard in that supposition, but I am just as lethal. I'd make a man kill himself long before I put the blade to his throat."

"Or in his back."

Loki grinned. "You learn quicker than I deemed possible."

"Give me the chance and I'm sure I'll surprise you," she said, rolling over onto her stomach to continue her pointless game. When she didn't say anything more, he dropped back into his seat and snatched up one of his books, attempting to drown out the sounds of the little keys banging against one another.

Humanity, he thought, barely a few sentences deep in his book of choice. Humanity. Always searching for the good in a bad situation – in a terrible mess of a living creature. Well she wouldn't find it. It didn't matter how much of a contribution he made in concocting the plot against Midgard. All that mattered was that he despised it as much as the world he had previously thought to eradicate. And were he given the opportunity to do so again, he would not repeat his mistakes. He would see that world ruined – _destroyed_. He would see every living soul upon it dead. Dead without hope of salvation. _Conviction._ What need did he have to strive for anything more than the suffering of those that had made his life a living Hel? There was no need. He would find himself in a better place. Or die trying.

They glanced up as the dungeon doors unlatched. Loki was slowly tiring of these unexpected visits. Too early for dinner, he thought absently, and judging by the noise it wasn't their ordinary visitors. Two guards, but not _their_ guards. He was good with faces and he recognized most that had the misfortune of coming down here. His nerves steeled when he finally acknowledged the ruckus and caught sight of the two drunken men descending the steps. He sighed. _No good can come of this._

His cellmate ignored them. She'd stopped bothering with visitors and servants after Thor had so completely ignored her. Which still irked him to some degree – the valiant defender of Midgard shamelessly ignoring an obvious plea for mercy. For now, she continued with her game without looking up, but her aim suffered. She caught on just as he had. _No good can come of this._

Loki stood from his seat, approaching slowly as the guards stumbled into the room, the last few steps nearly ending their crusade. It wouldn't be the first time he saw the lessers of the court make blundering fools of themselves on their binge drinking escapades. He had endured the worst of such encounters before. On more than one occasion he'd been decorated in ale, spit, and vomit. And all while suffering through their heroic epics and useless toasts. They would thoughtlessly stumble through tales of mayhem and merry making and he would sit there, hating every moment of it. This would be no different.

Their laughter echoed through the mostly empty chamber. On the floor, his cellmate jumped when one of them fell into the glass as he stumbled along. She glared up at them, her brown-eyed gaze piercing. The first guard finally recovered from his minor fall and acknowledged her stare with a deathly serious look. Loki's stomach flopped painfully. _No good can come of this._ Whatever joke they had been thoroughly enjoying was no longer even remotely funny as the first guard continued to stare at her – his gaze hungry and angry and unbecoming of sobriety. The second guard stopped giggling when he finally caught on.

"So this is the new prisoner I've heard whispers about," he said. She continued to foolishly hold their sickening looks. _Don't. You won't win this fight._ "Pretty fox, this one." Her eyes were like daggers and he saw it even at this distance. With something like a grumble or some inaudible jest, she finally looked away, fishing her pen from her pocket and starting to doodle again. It was a nervous tick, he decided at last. Whatever she said, or whatever they thought she had said, braced the room with a neck breaking tension to be shortly ignited. _Not good. Not good. No good can come of this._

She jumped again when the first guard banged hard on the glass, this time actually getting to her feet and staggering backward slightly. "I don't believe you're in a position to be making remarks like that, missy." The barrier fell as the glass parted and she scrambled out of the way as he stepped into her cell. _Not good. Not good._ "Not so tough without the glass, are you?" Loki noted that her eyes were still as unforgiving as ever, though the fear in her posture was equally evident. "Do you have a name, love?" he asked, slowly edging forward – she countered in turn. She didn't answer. Her wide eyes were dead centered on him, her limbs tense – the fight or flight response soon to make its decision and ultimately fail. There was nowhere she could run and a fight, even against a guard so heavily intoxicated, would not be easily won. "No?" the guard tried again. "You must have a name," he insisted.

"Nameless, faceless subject," she finally snapped, glancing briefly at Loki. He grinned. _So cheeky._ The guard wasn't as amused. Even less so when he eyed Loki's dangerous smile.

"Found yourself a new pet?" he inquired spitefully.

He laughed, dark and quiet, his chest vibrating slightly. "Pet." He shook his head but offered little reply otherwise. Loki could hardly place her in the scheme of his chaotic life. But even if he could, he was not about to indulge this dull-witted, half-brained excuse for Aesir.

The guard came forward, leaning toward the glass until he could almost smell the alcohol on his breath. "You are undeserving of a creature so beautiful." Loki only continued to smile, shaking his head, slow and not even remotely concerned. "Filthy silver tongue of yours- " He licked his lips tauntingly, half appreciating his observation. The guard turned back to her, not even finishing his statement. She hadn't moved. "You one of his whores? Is that why you're here?" Her countenance twisted uncomfortably. "He's the God of Mischief after all. I'm sure despite his bondage, he's found a way inside your head." She glanced at him incredulously, but he just shrugged. "Though I will admit," he said, creeping closer again. "He has good taste." He reached for her and she shirked out of his gasp with the same intense stare. Loki thought she might bite him if he got any closer. Of course, with that infernal weapon of hers still tight in her hand, it was more likely that she would just stab him. _No good can come of this._

"There's nowhere to run, you little wench." After several weeks in captivity, she knew full well, but she continued to dodge his poorly aimed hands with a grace that seemed almost out of place. She shook in the instance of every brief reprieve. But held her ground when it mattered. But the guard's distorted patience strained until finally one of his hands clamped down on her wrist, the skin twisting in his grip. Painfully restrained, she had no way to escape as his other hand extended in a moment of blind rage and contacted her face with a loud crack and a smothered scream. Loki almost flinched when he saw the bleeding break in the skin beneath her eye and her already swelling cheek. Her shaking hand pressed firmly against it as she regained her composure, her wrist still losing circulation under his grip.

"Suppose we try this again," the guard growled, dragging her closer. Her entire form was stiff when his hand touched her face and slowly pushed hers away, blood trickling down her cheek. He leaned forward haphazardly and her eyes widened in disgust as his lips met her cheek and her jaw and her chin until finally smothering her mouth. She pinched her eyes shut, her body trying valiantly to reject something obviously awful. He thought he saw her gag. It was almost funny for a moment, his sloppy wet mouth covering hers and the way she squeamishly tried to escape him. He half-expected the guard to fall asleep on her. But as he deepened their kiss and his free hand slid down her side, mindlessly groping at anything it could reach, Loki felt sick.

It was something like envy, dark green and haunting. He tensed, his muscles shaking in anticipation. He ran his hand up her thigh and it made Loki's skin crawl. His fingertips burned as the seidr pooled in the palms of his hands, just waiting to come free and wreak havoc on anything in its path. As the guard continued to caress her unwilling form, he could imagine the oh-so-terrible fate that would befall him. Dismemberment. Decapitation. Evisceration. The possibilities were endless. His cruelties were without limits. But he remembered the glass – the enchantment that bound his magic to the cell.

He watched as the drunken man tugged at her shorts making her squirm and shake. He saw that her very sharp writing utensil was still tight in her grasp – the hand braced by his tightening grip. She struggled to no avail and the other guard just watched, waiting to jump in himself. The look in his eyes. The vision of her hopelessly overwhelmed in a hurriedly escalating attack, burned him so deep he didn't even know how to respond. It made him want – _need _– to do something. But he couldn't. He could do nothing. _No good can come of this._ So he squirmed where he stood, his mind racing, trying to think of something he could do. Two drunken guards weren't going to be swain by his silver tongue. Nor would a mere verbal threat dissuade them from harming her any further. _No good can come of this._

It wasn't the first time he'd been a helpless bystander in his own life. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing and painful more often than not. This time was no different. In fact, it was possibly worse. Enduring Thor and the All-father's heated arguments was so far dwarfed in comparison. His lips curled back into a snarl. How had he found himself here again? His fists clenched and all of the furniture within his cell slid toward the walls. How could she have been so foolish? She should have learned by now! She was a captive – how stubborn did she have to be in order to think it a good idea to be instigating conflict? And knowing full well that she couldn't defend herself?

Loki heard the guard yelp as she finally escaped his hold on her wrist and drove the shank into his arm, blood immediately staining his bicep. But he responded in turn, dragging her backward by her hair until he dropped her onto her cot. He straddled her waist and braced her arms to the thin mattress until she could move nothing but her neck. Loki's mind whirled when he heard her sob as she failed time and time again to escape him.

When the other guard closed in and he heard her muffled scream as clothing was forcefully torn, Loki could take it no longer. He raised a hand to the glass and it was instantly enveloped with ice. It crawled out from his fingertips until the whole of his cell was incased in a thickening sheet of frost. His breath met the freezing air in tiny little clouds. Despite his heritage and the cold world he was born of, he shivered. He continued to stare, even though all he saw now was ice and his own shadow upon it. Only the tiniest sounds reached him now. Chills traveled up his spine to imagine what continued to transpire on the other side.

How could she be so foolish? How could she put her life in jeopardy like this? Without thought? Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut just this once? _There has to be something I can do_, he thought again. Something. He couldn't help the painful turn of his stomach, picturing the disgusting violation being done to her. If only he could help her. _Help her?_ Where had this even come from? This notion of salvation and mercy? Why did he want to help her? What had possessed him to think such a thing – to care? She was merely mortal – here to endure justice for some petty crime, he was sure. Why should he care what became of her? What reason did he have? Had she so infected him to have utterly stolen his train of thought? _Help her?_

A particularly loud noise pierced the silence he had created – a cry. A shriek of jarring pain shortly smothered. He could almost see the hand clamped tightly over her face. _Help her?_ No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide from his imagination. He couldn't convince himself that she somehow deserved this. That this was somehow her own fault. He couldn't un-hear her cries. He couldn't ignore the possessive attitude he'd developed toward her. She would be his – that was what he'd told her. His. _Mine._ It boiled his blood now. There had to be something he could do. Anything. But there wasn't. So he stood there, gritting his teeth until his head ached, silently hoping she would be all right.

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So sorry for the cliffhanger! But if you haven't already noticed, I've been updating every other day (when I am able) so you won't have to wait too long :)

Thanks again to everyone who read! I love you all!


	6. Chapter 6

_"Claim loyalty to me... and I will give you what you need."_

Or more simply put: ask and you shall receive.

Cliff hangers are evil. Here's the next one. A day early. Because I'm so nice...

And be forewarned as before, rape stuff...

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Naomi didn't move until she heard the door lock behind them. She didn't move until she was sure they had gone. Until the room was bathed in absolute silence, she left her face buried in the sheet of the mattress. She waited until her breath settled slightly, but as soon as she sat up, her chest swelled and she sobbed uncontrollably. After a few moments, she took the reigns again, wiping her eyes that were already red and raw and puffy. She smothered the last of the sniffles as she hung her legs over the edge of the cot.

This was a new level of pain for her. Her face throbbed. Her head ached. Her wrists burned. And everywhere else just felt violated. Horribly, horribly violated. She fingered the tear in her shorts – they had barely survived. _She_ had barely survived. She glanced to the door in a sudden panic, as if they might return again. But the room was still quiet. She swallowed another sob, trying to ignore and forget the enormous ache between her legs, the sticky wetness that was hardly her own. Bile crept up her throat as she failed to push the images from her mind – fragments of the most horrific moments of her entire life. The guard's hulking form pressing her down, his weight crushing her everywhere. The taste of saliva and sweat and dirty skin. The other guard holding her down by the shoulders as he half-consciously touched himself. Everything after that was only a sensation as she clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the horrors ensuing around her.

The feel of a tongue, teeth, suction. Hands clutching with bruising force. Her hair was forcefully yanked, her neck exposed and bit. The taste of blood as she bit her own lip. The sound of a scream – _her_ scream – as she lost the very last scrap of dignity she withheld in this place – as he took her – _claimed_ her – marked her in a way that she might never heal. The pain of him violently thrusting against her – _into her_ – was still radiating through her entire person. And then, when he was done, when he'd taken his fill, he beat her until bones broke and flesh bled. And then they were gone, though one assured with a kiss on her very bruised cheek that they would return again.

Naomi prayed that by morning they wouldn't even remember she existed. If only she could be so fortunate.

She tried to stand, instead finding a place on the floor. She could feel where her ribs had cracked, where bones had bruised, and where muscles had been torn with the strain. Her hand came to her face. Her nose bled, a dry trail marking her lips and chin. She moved her hand to her cheek, but she nearly screamed, stilling all over until the pain stopped. Her eye radiated heat and pain. She'd smeared blood on her fingertips for the brief moment they'd rested upon her cheek. It was swollen to the point that blinking was not worth considering.

Her bloodshot eyes refocused, taking in the room that was remarkably unscathed from their encounter. She pushed it away from her mind again almost to a point of success until she took note of the temperature drop and a frosted pane of glass. She frowned, quickly erasing all emotion since one of her eyebrows played host to another ugly wound. Dragging her feet, she crossed the room, still hopeful this was a dream to be woken up from.

She nearly burned her hand with the lightest touch – that's how cold it was. Her breath fogged and condensed on the glass. Magic, she remembered. Loki knew magic. She touched the glass again, this time just rapping her knuckles against it. There may have been a shadow, but still not a sound. She waited another minute before knocking again and this time the frost began to fade. Slowly it melted, cracking and sliding to the floor in sheets. Loki finally appeared, just standing on the other side, watching the water pool at his feet. The water ran off to nowhere as if it evaporated, until the cell was left as it was.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes were wide, traveling her up and down with a look she could only describe as concern, though it would never be fitting of him. He remained rooted to the floor, but he finally spoke. "Are you all right?" She instantly dropped her eyes, staring at her feet. She continued to tug on the tear in her shorts, her hand the only thing holding them closed. Noted with a sickly turn of her stomach, her thighs underneath were bruised in shapes not unlike hands – _mindlessly groping hands_. "Are you all right?" he asked again, his tone a bit stronger.

She looked at him again, as incredulously as possible. "Do I look all right?" Her voice cracked uncomfortably as she watched him in disbelief. She'd yet to see the mess that had become of her face, but it felt like she'd been hit in the face with a bowling ball. Even if it looked half as bad as she felt, it would be worthy of a sympathy cringe. And yet, he seemed somehow relieved.

Loki very lightly shook his head, continuing to take note of her injuries. She noticed when his wide-eyed stare settled on her disheveled shorts. "Did they," he swallowed hard, his throat clearly dry. "Were you- "

Tears brimmed and she aggressively held them at bay as the anger boiled over full-force. "What do you care?" Her hoarse voice was little more than a growl. "What do you care what happened to me? I mean, clearly you didn't want to know," she added, gesturing toward the pane of glass that was now devoid of ice and snow. "If you couldn't stand to watch, you probably can't handle hearing about it!"

Loki's eyes flared bright green, but she could hear the strain in his voice to keep from yelling back. "Did you want me to see? Would that have pleased you?" His voice was soft, almost genuine. "If I had stood and watched – taken some sort of thrill from it? Reveled in your humility and anguish as they did?" He sounded disgusted at the very idea.

"I would have expected that! It wouldn't have surprised me! But you didn't do anything – you just stood there!"

"And what would you have me do?"

"Anything! You're some sort of magician! Don't tell me there was nothing you could do! Don't pretend to care when I know you, of all people, do not. You just stood there!"

"There is nothing I could do!" His hands fisted and his table along with its contents leapt across the room, the glass top shattering when it impacted the barrier of the cell while the food upon it lay to waste around the room. With a dagger suddenly conjured into his hand, he stabbed the glass and a dance of black and green haze ensued. They fought one another, snaking this way and that as the glass tried to reseal, until the black finally smothered the bright green glow and the barrier was restored. "This cell contains my seidr – my magic! Not even the almighty All-father's powers could penetrate it! I am trapped here same as you are! There is nothing I could've done for you! _Nothing! _But next time, just for your sake, I'll be sure to take a damn seat and watch the show!"

She disappeared into the bathroom without hearing the end of his explosive retort. When the swell of emotion was too much to withhold, she ran. She stripped off her clothes and ran into the shower, slamming the knob until the water finally turned on. She slid down the wall, the stone scratching the only part of her that wasn't already damaged, as the sobs shook her chest again. But this time, she couldn't stop them. Her entire body shook and the water stung the many open wounds. But it was cool on the many swells. The water ran red to the drain intermingled with the smells and funk. But no amount of cold water would erase what happened. Nor would it allow her to forget about the man – god – king – _monster_ – whatever who was still shouting to himself in the adjoining cell.

Over the sound of the running water, she couldn't decipher what he was saying. Or maybe it was because she chose not to hear him anymore. How could she have been so stupid? To even think he would help? It was nothing more than a game to him. Some sick perverted game. A joke at her expense. She felt more hurt by his rejection than what she had endured at the hands of the guards and she was nauseated from feeling that way. She had taken some level of comfort from their forced companionship. Unfortunately she had imagined it and she saw infinitely more than he could ever give. Perhaps he was the monster he'd made himself out to be. How could she have been so stupid?

Those guards were right. There would never be care or compassion or even sympathy! She was little more than a whore, only alive and left alone because a pane of glass kept them apart. And surely, had he been able, he would have done the same as the drunken guards had, if not worse. And she was an idiot to think otherwise.

She let the water run cold. Colder. She hadn't even bothered to scrub herself down. In spite of really wanting to feel even a little less disgusting, she couldn't bring herself to endure the pain it would've caused. Bones were broken and skin was obviously lacerated. Naomi took the time only to clean the wounds she could reach – the ones that weren't jarringly painful. As for those, she just hoped they wouldn't get infected.

When the water finally shut off of its own accord, she hung forward over her knees and just shivered for another thirty minutes more before finally getting up again and reluctantly redressing in her tarnished clothes. The cells were dark, the lights dimmed almost into total darkness. She strained through her un-swollen eye to find Loki and ensure he wasn't waiting for her – waiting to bludgeon her with more insults and ridicule. Thankfully he'd given up, his very loud internal monologue having ended some time ago. He was wrapped very haphazardly in the sheets of his bed. Naomi stared at her own with a look of absolute disgust. _I wish I could burn it._ The sheet – the only sheet – was permanently stained and the stench would never leave it.

She tore off the sheets with a vengeance, shoving them as far out of sight as possible, before she flipped the tiny mattress with some sense of relief. Better. Definitely better. With some sense of clarity restored, she picked up her tiny bottle of glue and went back to the bathroom, already dreading the task ahead.

One look in the mirror and she almost didn't recognize the mess that was her rearranged face. She touched her cheek, this time managing to only wince, though the pain hadn't changed. The bone beneath her eye had cracked, she felt as she slid her fingers along the line. There'd be no fixing that. She blotted the cut and then sealed it with a tiny spot of glue. The others were easier. She even managed to mend the tear in her shorts, though rather unconventionally. And in the end, all that was left was a feeling of bitter revulsion and a lot of pain. And hunger. Hunger only marred by her recent loss of appetite.

Naomi shuffled back out to the cot and threw herself down before she could reconsider the things that had occurred there. She buried her face in the mattress, her nose almost meeting the wood frame underneath. She tried desperately to find a new plan – a new course of action – a new goal to keep her mind from slipping into that hopeless pit of despair that she'd been on the brink of for so long. But there was nothing. If Loki couldn't get out than neither could she. If they hadn't fed her by now, odds were they wouldn't. If Loki didn't help her, then she was alone. Alone in a cell underground on another world where no one would find her. Alone in a cell, in a dungeon, where she would inevitably starve to death. Not even a crumb in sympathy would find its way into this cell – and things would only get worse from here. Her fingers curled around her wrist – the sensitive, over stimulated flesh – and her fingertips met on the other side. Skinny little thing.

She gulped almost nervously and suddenly she felt her entire directive violently shift. Boredom became almost instantly irrelevant. She had no need to stay busy. Their petty game was suddenly insignificant. She didn't need to keep herself occupied. No need to appease a man who would much rather see her dead and gone. No need to keep moving. No need to attempt an escape or win the favor of those that had enslaved her. No need to do anything anymore. She needed nothing more than to hunker down and stay alive. And nothing else mattered as the days dragged on.

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There you are! Less cliff hangery. Alas, it will continue to be sad and terrible for a little while... but at the same time not so terrible...

Thanks sooo much for reading and reviewing! xoxoxoxo


	7. Chapter 7

I have over 50 followers on this story! You are all so amazing! Thank you for all of your kind reviews! They have been very encouraging, now all I need is some extra time to finish it... GAH! projects! Anyway... a lot of you have some idea where all of this is going... but here's the next chapter so you can know for certain.

Here we reach the absolute bottom... and Loki doesn't like it...

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Loki was not familiar with regret. He knew it only from his subconscious mind's darkest wanderings in a time of such utter self-loathing that he regretted his existence within an inch of his life. That was a long time ago and put behind him well enough. But he could still recall the cold hand that was shame tugging at the back of his neck until his hair stood on end. It played with his thoughts and riled them into chaos until they were but wild animals, once docile, loosed from their chains and set to tear his conscience apart. If there was anything left of it. If it had even been there to start. He roughly tousled his hair until the raven black strands tangled around his fingers. Was it regret? Or just the sickly repercussions of compassion?

His wit was sharp. His cruel, verbal abuse even more so. It was all part of his charmingly abhorrent nature. With words alone he could crush his enemies without so much as lifting a finger. A thousand times – a tactic employed a thousand times. Hundreds of thousands of times. And yet, he sat at the edge of his bed fussing with his attire as if the fabric had wronged him in some way, regret wreaking havoc. What had he said this time? Such a natural slip of the tongue, he'd almost forgotten entirely. But not entirely.

Her eyes were dark, the brown almost black. And in that moment, when emotion slipped through her mask, he saw terror. Fear of an unholy sort mixed with embarrassment and pain, traces of sadness and nearly defeat – for the first time since he'd ever known her. And in that moment, that weakness only just contained, she confronted him. Her tiny frame was battered and broken, bruised and bleeding. But this time, not a wound self-inflicted for stupidity's sake. She carried herself as a warrior might, wearing scars without concern, but wearing scars all the same. Loki saw the destruction done to her mind, as he had feared. She struck out in anger and he felt it like a whip to flesh already raw from abuse. _There must have been something I could have done. Anything?_ Every mistake rubbed like dirt in his face. He should've done something. _I should have done something!_

He couldn't speak for her pain, but what he endured waiting and wondering and imagining – surely it came close. But she'd never know. She'd never see it that way – because he was the monster. The monster that would haunt her dreams. The monster that would wake her in fits of sobs and screams. The monster that would lurk forever in the shadows of a paranoid mind. _The monster parents tell their children about at night…_

He didn't want to watch. No part of him wanted to see first hand what the guards had done to her. That was a show worthy of no one's admission. But that's what he told her – that was his gruesome intent. That's what he told her, even though it was a threat so empty the endless void beyond the realms was pleasantly dwarfed. He hadn't meant it. Or at least, he was fairly certain he didn't. It made him sick to think about it, so he assumed he hadn't. He thought – _thought_ – to apologize. Apologize? _Apologize?_ Apologize for what? For being a captive? For being incapable of helping her? It wasn't his fault! There was nothing he could have done. _I could have tried._ _I _should _have tried._ And therein lie the feeling they called regret.

Waiting and watching for almost a week, he kept thinking she would come around again. But he never saw it. She hadn't spoken a single word since that night. Her mindless fiddling had all but ceased. She hadn't added anything to her sketches on the floor in days. Thinking back on it now, she'd spent more time sleeping than anything else. He had assumed she was simply testing him with the silent treatment, but he was beginning to realize that this wasn't the case.

The water in the shower had been running for a long time now – he guessed a half an hour at least. She didn't sing this time. His ears were met only with the continuous pitter-patter of water falling to the stone and then the gurgling as it moved down the drain. He listened closer, thinking perhaps he'd simply missed it. No. She was quiet.

He let his chin rest against his chest, as he was slowly lulled by the sound. And then it finally stopped. She fussed momentarily, her feet squeaking on the polished floor and then she emerged, a towel wrapped around her. And Loki could only stare. Every day since arriving here, she went to incredible lengths to avoid being undressed where he could see her. But this time she puttered over to her cot, her long hair dripping and forming tiny puddles as she walked. Her drawings so meticulously adorning the floor were smeared under her feet. She had the sense enough to pull her underwear on with the towel still sitting precariously across her back. After that, she seemed not to care. She dropped the towel, missing the bench completely. It landed in a wet pile on the floor.

Loki's eyes grew wide. She stood in plain sight, wearing nothing but a pair of black underpants. And for some reason she didn't seem at all concerned. Perhaps it was all part of the show she had promised. Though she hardly delighted in his discomfort. She was beautiful. Her skin was milky white in the low light, so highly contrast with her dark red hair. Darker now, laden with water. Her form was long and lean and alluringly curvy. Absently gathering her clothes, she leaned harder on one hip. His gaze traveled down her long legs and just as soon back up again to her now exposed breasts. He didn't breathe as she retrieved the towel again and dried her hair, the whole of her body exposed with her arms raised just above her. He could see where the guards had marked her skin, the discoloration only beginning to fade. But she didn't hide them as she had before. His entire body was tense as if at any moment he would come violently uncoiled like a snake.

She dropped the towel again and he finally took note of her shaking hands. Her fingers brushed her forehead, soon bracing her face as her body slightly swayed. She half turned, her waist resting on the wall, and he caught sight of the rather defined protrusions of her spine. She was so much skinnier than he'd expected. Or maybe she wasn't. Loki glanced at the notches in the stone. She'd been almost three weeks in captivity – three weeks without food. He could count her ribs at a distance, the breaks from her encounter now reasonably obvious. There were distinct hollows in her cheeks. And the whole of her was frail. He wasn't sure how all of this had escaped his notice before now. She was emaciated. Or very quickly on her way there. She wasn't playing their little game anymore. She was trying to survive.

Regaining some of her stance, she finished dressing, though at a frighteningly slow pace. It seemed an eternity had passed before she finally fished her arm through the sleeve. She didn't even bother with her pants. She just curled up on her cot and tried to fall asleep. She drifted off after a while, her one arm hanging limp over the edge. But he couldn't find the means as he was plagued by the image of her horribly neglected body.

Everyday after it brought an unholy turn of his stomach to see her suddenly struggling; she who had been so headstrong and stubborn and fearless. The lack of sustenance would take its toll slowly, but after the attack, her strength had bottomed out with remarkable haste. Ultimately he came to a very sickening realization: he was watching her die.

His chest hurt. It was a burn he could only compare with revenge. His entire body felt hot with rage as he watched her mope silently in her cage. He tried more than once to get her attention, but either she was very successfully ignoring him or she was too debilitated to even notice. He didn't even know her name to call to her. She was only human and while he had no soft spot for their kind, this was cruel. She was dying needlessly. Slowly. Painfully. He deserved to be here. He deserved far less than what he received down here and yet she was the one suffering. Suffering – and dying. _But I will not make the same mistake twice._

Loki anxiously awaited the guards that morning, pacing the glass with a look that could kill. On each turn, he glanced at his cellmate. She was curled up on her cot, unmoving with her back to him. The curves of her body were so sharp, even beneath her clothes. Her hipbones protruded a little further than they should have. Her shoulders were a little more prominent than he remembered. He had to turn away to hold his cool before it was necessary that he lose it.

No sooner had he centered his thoughts, did the doors to their dungeon unlatch. His eyes followed them all the way down the stairs. The young woman carrying a clattering tray of food visibly slowed when she met his gaze, so much that the guard bumped into her. She needed only to recognize the anger in his gaze to send hers straight to the floor. The guards continued to hurry her forward until she was a theoretical arm's length away.

"If you intend to ignore me, I will make you sincerely regret it." He could have sworn he saw her shiver. He extended a hand, slowly, as not to startle her and pointed to where his companion lay. Gradually her eyes followed his silent command. "This woman needs to be fed."

"I'm sorry?" she asked quietly.

"You heard me," he growled. "She needs to be fed. She's been down here for more than a fortnight with nothing to eat. She is soon to starve to death."

"I was never instructed to bring anything for her," she meekly replied.

"Then consider this your instruction."

"I'm sorry – I can't do that. I can only serve what's been left out for you."

"Then give her mine." His tone left no room for rebuttal. But he could see the depth of her confliction. Someone had explained this entire situation to her – to all of them. She was simply trying to cover that fact with some pitiful excuse.

"I'm afraid I cannot. Please understand that I have my orders."

"Whose orders?" He had a fair idea judging by her silence. _She should learn to fear me more._ "Give her my meal." She didn't move, but her eyes darted back and forth, between him and the guards. "_Now._"

"I was given specific instructions -"

Loki slammed a fist against the glass and it splintered around his hand, its enchantment fervently fighting his magic to seal itself again. The servant girl stumbled, nearly losing her grip on the tray. "She is dying!" That familiar black haze formed against the glass, finally overwhelming his hold. One of the guards steadied the terrified young woman while the other violently shoved the tray of food through the newly parted glass into his cell before ushering the lot of them back the way they'd come.

Well that was a spectacular failure. She had not been forgotten – she was being purposefully neglected. And none of his threats were going to change that. He peered with a deepening frown at the slightly disturbed tray of food. His appetite was non-existent. Something had to be done about this.

He approached the pane that separated them, noting that she still hadn't moved. Not even the noise of their confrontation had disturbed her. Not even the prospect of food was enough. _How could she give up so easily?_ It was infuriating. His hand roughly massaged his face. There had to be something else.

His forehead came to rest against the glass with a light _thunk_. The coolness quickly invaded the whole of his head. And his seidr leeched out again, coming to meet that of the glass, intangible flames of either color licking at one another. But there was something about it. _What was that?_ He opened his eyes and found the room unchanged. No. Something was most assuredly different. It was something he hadn't taken notice of before. He pressed his palm against the glass and found his reach diminished to some lesser degree. _Could it be possible?_ The entirety of this glass prison was encased in a barrier that prevented his escape. It was impervious to any form of magic. And yet, he could very distinctly recognize his limitations. This wall was different. This wall was far less protected. He'd never thought to test it, being that it wasn't exposed to the outside, only the other cell. This might be possible. His thoughts suddenly whirled. This might be possible. If he could simply conjure something edible into her cell, maybe she would be all right.

Sitting back down in his usual spot, he focused every ounce of his energy. His back was a little stiffer, his entire posture a little tighter. His eyes were clenched shut. Loki decided within moments that it was possible, but it was going to take serious time and energy to do so. His only companion was still lying motionless across the room. It was partly his fault, he decided. Had he done something to stop those drunken bastards, maybe she'd still be hungry, but she wouldn't have sunk into such a state so quickly. He couldn't do nothing this time. He owed her a debt – however small. He needed to make amends for his own sake. It was worth it.

For hours on end, he attempted to break through the enchanted barrier that separated them. So far, it had all been for nothing. It was more difficult than he had anticipated. But her condition worsened with every passing moment. She couldn't afford to wait. Two days passed and he was physically exhausted. His body was riddled with aches and pains like he'd just gone a few rounds with Banner's beast. A few rounds. It wasn't working. Two days later and he had nothing to show for it! The only thing able to put his mind slightly at ease was to see her doing something other than sleeping.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see her standing again, however weakly she did so. With that, he took a break. Let renewed strength prevail. She slipped into the bathroom where he couldn't see her. He almost caught a moment of shuteye before she reappeared. As she stepped back into his line of sight, he was startled back to a bracing state of consciousness when she coughed suddenly. A sudden panic was born, even before he looked up. She hung forward, her delicate hand pressed against her chest as she continued to cough, more violently with every passing second. _Oh no. Not yet. This is too soon._ She tried to brace the cot as she stumbled forward, but her hand slipped and she collapsed. Even curled up on the floor, her body was still shaken with the same lung-tearing cough.

Loki was on his feet and across the room in half a second. "Guards! Guards, please help! Guards!"

Silence. The guards didn't respond. And his prison comrade didn't cough anymore. He turned back, fearful that he'd lost her already. He didn't breathe as he watched with wide eyes for the rise and fall of her chest. He exhaled a long breath when he found it. Still alive. Still breathing. But she didn't get up. She didn't move any further than curling her legs further into the fetal position. His time had run out. The guards weren't going to save her. If he didn't, no one would. Time for reprieve had run out. He regrouped with a well-renewed resolve.

The lights of the room dimmed, signaling nightfall in the world above. Just under an hour had passed, but Loki still stood with his hands pressed against the glass, trying until he was – almost literally – blue in the face. He watched her through squinted eyes again, seeing that even now she hadn't moved. She made no attempt to stand or even sit up. Her strength, however infinite it had seemed for a time, had all but run out. _We can't have that now can we?_

Finally he breached the other side. At last, he broke through the barrier, but that was the easy part. Now he had to keep it that way. No time to waste. He projected a perfect copy of himself into her cell, just beyond the pane of glass. Somehow it lessened the strain to have even half a presence on the other side. Though there was still a fresh film of sweat on his brow. His duplicate was unaffected, clad in garb more of his preference and looking fresh out of a throne room and not a prison cell. It was miraculous to see his hair in a presentable state.

Loki closed his eyes, forcing as much of his consciousness into his clone as he could. It was like pushing his brain through a colander, one very tightly weft. He could only hope it would recollect on the other side, but as of now he couldn't even attempt to force it all the way through. Already the stress on his mind was nauseating. But at the very least, he could control it. He rushed to her side, turning her onto her back as gently as he could. All of the color had run from her face and her entire body was limp like a doll in his arms. A doll of only skin and bone. Her beautiful skin was clammy and cold with a thin film of sweat. Pulse racing and body shaking, she was barely coherent.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, leaning closer to listen. A few long breathes passed her lips, but none formed words. But he was confident, at least, that she had heard him. "Tell me your name, love."

"Naomi," she breathed after several tries.

"Naomi," he returned. "You're going to be safe now. I'm going to take care of you. I promise." He tugged her into his lap, so that she was sitting up at least slightly. With a subtle motion of his hand, he conjured some food and water.

Loki collapsed with a muffled shout, almost losing his existence in the other cell entirely. For a long moment, he was unmoving, attempting to collect himself as the seidr pulsed aggressively around him. This barrier would complicate even the simplest of tasks. He slumped on his knees, his forehead sticking against the glass. His hands shook profusely. Watching his projection carefully, he noted that the sudden stress only barely affected him. His nostrils flared with a deep inhale and he refocused his mind again.

She was still quiet in his lap, having not even noticed his tiny outburst. He brought a chalice of water to her lips, careful with his subtly shaking hands. She hardly responded when the cool metal touched her lips. Tilting her head back he poured, the majority of the water running off her cheeks. Finally she swallowed, taking drink more feverishly once her mind registered what she was offered. One of her frail hands reached up, wrapping lightly around his wrist. Her hands shook almost as badly as his did. Her other hand, with a slightly firmer grip, fisted the fabric of his pant leg as she drank down the rest of the water. When she reached the end, she choked on the last few drops and he was instantly worried she'd fall into another fit like the last one. Momentarily, she calmed, merely adjusting in his lap.

Now for something more substantial. Thankfully he had the forethought to procure something that did not require chewing. In this state she'd probably object to such effort and he didn't have the strength to acquire anything else. At least, for some time. Soup was supposedly a remedy for everything, he thought, sliding the container where he could better reach it. When he'd fallen ill as a child – on rare occasion – his mother would personally prepare them a brew he could never truly identify. No one in the nine realms ever made it so well. This would be subpar in comparison, but under the circumstances, it would certainly suffice.

Removing the lid, a large plume of steam escaped that quickly smothered the tiny room with the scent of the soup. He gave it a stir and then tasted to ensure it wasn't too hot. Tolerable, he decided. He brought the spoon to her lips. "Open up, darling." She gently parted her lips at his command, welcoming the first taste with a quiet sigh of relief. He was so sure he felt the warmth as it invaded the whole of her, one spoonful at a time. He lost count after a while, mindlessly feeding her until she wouldn't take anymore. She curled further into his lap, nestling her face against his shirt. Before long, she was asleep – content and for the time being, safe.

Waving away the food with a quiet moan of exertion, he scooped her up and gently set her down on her cot. He could hear her sigh, a smile nearly gracing her features as she curled onto her side. It warmed his heart so much deeper than he ever thought it could.

Certain that she was safe for now he finally allowed the clone to disappear. Panting softly, he fell onto his side, thoroughly exhausted from the entire ordeal. Laid out on his back, he stared up at the ceiling until sleep took him by force.

* * *

There you have it! And it's not a cliff hanger! Yay! The next three chapters are pretty much done and only need to be edited before I post them... Shouldn't be long, but as I have probably mentioned, I have several very large projects piled on top of each other, all of which have stricter deadlines than my stories... though it's clear which I'd prefer to be working on :/

I'll be able to work more freely after October 8 (for like three days until I get more projects thrown in my lap)... but it will be a good three days :3

P.S. New Thor: The Dark World tv spot... Loki bondage... I am now going to be even less productive... gawd. O_O


	8. Chapter 8

I thought I was done with this chapter, but for the life of me I can't stop going back and changing stuff... I'm still not totally happy with it, but that's probably because I've reread it three thousand times and it just doesn't make sense anymore... whatever. I had hopes to post it earlier but Marvel released a new Loki clip and I was so done for the rest of the day... my heart was literally shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. I shall reassemble it eventually, at which point it will be promptly obliterated again. I so cannot take it anymore! This movie is going to be the death of me! O_o Anyway, here ya go!

* * *

When Loki awoke the next day, his entire body was one unified ache. His back was sore from falling asleep on the floor and his head was throbbing from such a heavy overexertion. He sat up and his body produced a symphony of cracks and groans. He deeply massaged his tired face, pressing his back against the glass.

He glanced up with a start, having remembered the cause of all this pain. _Naomi._ He half turned to look over his shoulder. She was still sound asleep right where he'd set her down the night before. That was a relief. Facing forward again, he took note of the fresh tray of food that had already been set out for him. How long had he been asleep? While his internal clock was good, even he had trouble determining the time down here occasionally. He'd know for sure by lunchtime.

After a moment, he stood, stretching the sleep from his legs and carefully eyeing the food set out for him. He momentarily debated which would be simpler – or easier on his already aching body – conjuring meals out of thin air or teleporting what already existed from here to there. He frowned, not being able to decide one way or another. He would know for sure within a few hours, after he had some renewal in strength. For now, he returned to his perch, retrieving one of his books before taking a seat. Every few pages, he would glance up to ensure she was all right. Still breathing. Still peacefully sleeping. Still living. She stirred only once when the guards were particularly noisy with the delivery of his lunch. Other than that, she was at last content.

Loki waited until after his dinner before attempting to breach the barrier again. He was fearful that should someone discover this newfound blessing, they'd find someway to take it away. As the lights finally dimmed, the process began again. The second time was easier, as if the hole had already been worn through and only needed to be broken open again. This time he did it in half the time and thankfully with half the strain. His clone reappeared, accompanied by more solid food: some fruits and breads. He was only hopeful she could eat it.

Leaning over her, he brushed her hair away from her face. Her complexion looked considerably better, though her cheekbones were still slightly more prominent than before. "Naomi?" he asked quietly. She stirred briefly. "I brought you something to eat." She didn't verbally respond, but her eyes flickered and she further adjusted. "Can you sit up?" She nodded, her eyes still tightly shut. Slowly, methodically, she pulled herself up one painstaking inch at a time until she was slumped against the tiny headboard.

Looking her over again, he quickly decided solid food was still going to be a challenge. He wasn't even sure she was aware of him – or the fact that it was him anyway. Had she known, he assumed she wouldn't have been quite so receptive. As her eyes finally opened, for the first time in days, he was greeted with a very obvious fog. Their brown color was dulled and they weren't focused on anything in particular. It amazed him that she was even conscious. She smiled weakly as she stared in his general direction. He sat down opposite her, poking through the fruit assortment. Pears, he decided. They were the softest and by far the easiest to swallow. He pushed a few pieces past her lips and she mindlessly chewed and swallowed without much difficulty.

He fed her three whole pears before she finally seemed full. She curled slightly into the corner, but the discomfort showed in her face. With a small space opened up, he squished in beside her, allowing her to rest against him instead of the rigid and most likely uncomfortable headboard. "Thank you," she breathed quietly against his sleeve. The sound of her voice had almost startled him, having not heard it at full strength for such a long time. Though this time it was still quiet and hoarse from disuse. "Thank you, Loki." Perhaps she was aware of him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," she moaned softly. "Tired."

"Hungry?" he inquired, half joking.

"No," she said, almost smiling as she nestled further into his sleeve.

Loki nearly laughed, imagining how under normal circumstances she would have somehow thrown that remark back in his face. He gently entangled his fingers in her hair, twirling the strands around his fingers. She sighed and for a moment he thought she'd fallen asleep, until she suddenly adjusted, her eyes open again. "My mother used to do that," she noted, her tone more somber than before.

"What?"

"My hair – she used to play with it whenever she could reach it." She reached back, her fingers barely brushing against his. But they mine as well have passed through him. "She always did it when I was sick." She sighed again, her stare reaching to some far corner of the room, though he assumed she saw something very different than the emptiness that surrounded them.

"What's wrong?"

"I lost my phone." Not quite the response he'd been expecting. She pushed herself up a bit as if to look for it in her bizarre state of delirium. Having identified most of the objects she'd been afforded, he had to assume it was the only one he'd yet to put a name to. He reached under the cot, careful not to disturb her too much. After a moment, he found the little black rectangle. He turned it over in his hands – a screen of glass surrounded by plastic. She plucked it from his hand, quickly tapping a button on the bottom and the device came to life, suddenly a glow as her fingers slid across the screen.

He watched as she panned through its contents, not sure of what she was trying to do. She didn't seem quite coherent enough to be accomplishing much of anything. But after a while, she seemed to settle on one activity in particular. Her thumb pulled numerous pictures across the screen, one at a time. Over her shoulder he could see the photographs and their occupants – people he obviously shouldn't recognize. There were a few in which she resided, smiling happily among other figures very similar in appearance to her. Every few photos she would pause and stare for a moment and flip through a few more. He thought he heard her sniffle. And then he was sure when she started to sob.

"Are you all right?" She nodded silently, continuing through the pictures. "Is this your family?" he asked as another picture passed. Again, she nodded, quickly smothering another sob. "Tell me about them," he said, pulling the phone to where he could better see it.

She flipped past a few photos and then stopped when she found the one she was looking for. "These are my parents," she explained. "My mom, she owns a little shoppe back home and my dad, he works for the government. This picture was from their anniversary last year. Me and my sister made them a special dinner, but we almost burned the house down in the process." She cracked a small smile and then looked for another picture. "That's the hair thing."

Loki peered at the photo she showed him. It was her, though several years younger and with the woman she identified as her mother. True enough, her hand was tangled deep in her curly hair. But not _her_ hair? "Your hair is rainbow." It was more of a question. Her wavy locks were patterned in stripes of every color. It was a design more fitting of the bifrost and not a woman's hair.

"Yeah," she responded simply, not elaborating any further. She flipped through a few more photos. "These are my sisters," she continued, pointing to another pair of figures. And this one photo took her attention for a little while longer. "Gwen and Evelyn," she commented at last. "Gwen is eight years older than me, but Evelyn and I are only two years apart. I was the middle child," she pointed out with a grim smile. "I was supposed to be the peacekeeper – the one that held us all together." So much remorse in so few words. He thought to inquire, but as she continued to stare at the old photo, she elaborated of her own accord. "My older sister hates me," she said matter-of-factly. "We were close for such a long time – all three of us. But she drifted away from us. She would yell and scream at me and tell me it was my fault. She blamed me for all of her problems. 'Everything was perfect until you came along.' She was so angry and upset and jealous of something I didn't have. She got involved with the wrong people. She did drugs. She was arrested. She tore the entire family apart. And all I could do was _try_ and hold us together. But I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

And then she was gone. It all happened so fast. One moment there was this huge fight and the next everyone had gone their separate ways. Evelyn went off to college on the other side of the country. My parents left the home I grew up in. Gwen probably ended up in prison."

"And what about you?"

"I'm alone." Her voice finally cracked, sobs threatening to overwhelm her again. "I'm all alone."

"No. No. You're not alone."

"Things will never be the same again. Everyday I tell myself that I want to go home, but it's not there anymore. And now I'm here," she sobbed, looking at their dank and decrepit surroundings. "And I'm going to die here all alone and no one will ever find me."

He tugged her closer, shushing her quietly until she calmed again. "Rest easy, my dear. You're safe now. I promise." He took the phone from her and set it aside. When her sobs subsided, she was very quickly off to sleep again, tear-stained face buried in his shirt.

Her admission was almost startling. Not so much for its content, but more because she was willing to make such an admission in the first place. She had been so brash – so secretive and closed off. But in times of weakness, people don't hide. They don't censor themselves. They speak honestly and with their truest emotions. Her strength, her attitude, was only a way of masking this hopelessness – the thought that she would die in here, never to see her family again. A family she already assumed to have deserted her. It was not so difficult to imagine. Now more than ever, he missed her stubborn attitude and her unending wit. He wished she would argue and taunt and yell and scream, but not this. Not this.

Loki's chest further knotted and he was sure by now the ache would never fade. Even as her sobs receded and the only sound was her quiet breath against his shoulder, her words repeated themselves over and over again, but this time in a very different voice. This time, it was Thor's. _We were raised together. We played together. We fought together! Do you remember none of that?_ Of course he remembered with a sneer. It was a span of his memory several centuries long. Thousands upon thousands of childish squabbles and years of idiotic conflict. With Thor, every trivial matter came down to war. Wars from which he always emerged victorious. He sought violence and mayhem and chaos for the sole sake of basking in the glory that would assuredly follow. And even though it was paired none to often with a stern scolding that he had the misfortunate of beholding, he'd be on his merry way soon after. Sooner still to repeat the cycle again. And all the while, he stood in the backdrop, at the curb of his brother's existence. The true heir to the throne of Asgard. So he remembered a shadow.

_But it wasn't always like that,_ Loki thought wordlessly. There had been a time – a time when the throne was only a dream or the object of a childhood game. A time when both were born to be kings, before the reality set in that there could be only one. He remembered the carefree aura that seemed to surround everything. They were only boys, pretending to be stronger and older and wiser. But in reality, only children. They were still going through schooling – Thor would have recalled it, more likely, as being_ dragged_ through it. Loki appreciated it to some degree, though the affinity for knowledge in any field other than that of battle, was lacking in his older brother. While Thor spent hours outside chopping straw filled heads off of wooden posts, he was cooped up in the deepest reaches of the palace buried deep in his spell books. His mother's most precious gift.

For a time, it was also the bane of his existence. Seidr was only for witches and wise men, they'd taunted. Endlessly. The old and the weak and the useless. So he retreated, vanishing into one of his many hideaways for days on end. The longest was nearly two weeks. But it had been Thor who came looking for him. "Mother's worried sick, Loki. We've searched the entire palace for you! And while this has been the grandest game of hide and seek in all the Nine Realms, you have to come out now!" Always another jest. "What's wrong, brother?" a younger Thor asked, noting his morose demeanor. Loki remembered being open with him – a surreal thought since then. "I shall hunt them down then!" he declared. "I shall slay them all for the things they've said! You are a Prince of Asgard after all." But it wasn't only that. While their words stung, it was mostly this one spell he'd spent the past weeks trying and failing to perfect. And their taunting only further encouraged him to give up. So then Thor shortsightedly volunteered to be his test subject, regardless of the end result.

Loki grinned. It was an interesting attempt, which, long story short, resulted in him spending some quality time as a boar. But the most supportive boar. And, true to his word, he saw that his antagonizers paid their dues, most in the form of horns in a number of painful places.

_But I blamed him for everything._ He was perfect – perfect by Asgard's standards. And Loki – he was no more than a blemish upon a perfect record. _The monster parents tell their children about at night. _Naomi was right. Things could never be as they were. _You give up the Tesseract! You give up this pointless dream! You come home._ But he could never go home. There wasn't one to return to. Not anymore. Not after everything he had done.

Naomi exhaled a long breath and slumped further against his shoulder, only when she looked horribly uncomfortable did he finally lay her back down, sitting on the floor beside her cot instead. He watched her, peaceful for now, but not without a shadow of her silent sufferings. He interlaced his fingers with hers and tightened his grip until he himself felt somehow reassured. _You're not alone anymore, love._

_ You're not alone._


	9. Chapter 9

Here's the next one ma lovelies! All of my huge projects were due today! So for the next three days I am FREE! Let the hardcore Loki costuming and fanfiction writing commence! Fingers crossed that I can get some more chapters finished... lately the time has eluded me...

It is so endlessly thrilling that there are people out there that look forward to new chapters for this... it blows my mind every time! Many many thanks to all of my followers and reviewers! I broke 5000 views today... how freaking crazy is that? Teeanks sooooo much! XOXOXOXO

**WARNING! This chapter contains very graphic depictions of violence!**

It's a small scene that I've already cut down twice and I still think it's pretty graphic... so just be warned...

And as you may have guessed already... Loki gets a little revenge...

* * *

Naomi recovered very gradually, one painstaking day at a time. After almost a week, she snacked on the solid food he brought her and while she seemed much better, she was still in this fog and she slept for much of the day. He wondered more than once if she would ever be herself again. But the few times she managed a smile or an incoherent jest, he knew she was still in there somewhere. So he sat back quietly and let her recuperate of her own accord.

For now she was sleeping, full and content, under the warm and heavy wool blanket he'd procured for her. Though she didn't voice it, he could tell she was infinitely grateful with the way she curled into it and tucked it under her chin, burying her face in the fabric. The effect it had was like that of chloroform, the scent keeping her submerged in a deep and peaceful sleep. So for the first time in over a week he wasn't strung up with worry. Of course, without being actively occupied, that nagging shame slipped back in, biting at the back of his neck. What more must he do to be free of this madness? He was basically nursing this woman back to health and still, he couldn't help but feel responsible for her. It was infuriating. She couldn't get better soon enough.

Loki looked up from one of his old spell books when Naomi suddenly stirred. She turned over, tugging the blanket even tighter around her if it was possible – an omen for something worth hiding from.

He heard the voice of a young woman just beyond the doors – the young woman who served him more often then not. She wasn't in distress, but she wasn't thrilled with whatever was taking place out there. The door swung open and he caught one string of dialogue as she was – by the sound of it – shoved aside. Two guards stepped inside. One was carrying the tray of food, which had no doubt been appropriated from the young servant, and the other simply holding the flank to ensure she didn't attempt to return for it. And it was the two guards he never wanted to see again – or did he?

The guard – Naomi's attacker – came down the stairs at a more even and measured gait than before, with all drunkenness gone from him now. He strode with the authority of his title, carelessly carrying the tray, but the tarnished nature of his status was clear as he tossed it to the floor where the well-prepared meal was splattered against the stone where it met the glass. Loki didn't flinch, but he felt his blood boil against his inherently frigid pedigree. Oh yes, he wanted to see this man again. Amends would be made today. He felt his inner-self smiling like a madman.

Naomi turned over again, her back now facing the guard who stared hungrily into her cell. And Loki watched and waited for him to choose his inevitable fate. He stepped forward and gazed at her sleeping form, more than likely reminiscing of the horrific encounter. _Come back for more, have you? Come and get it. I _dare_ you._ The guard took the subconscious provocation and stepped through the parting pane of glass. One slow step at a time, he crossed the cell, his eyes longingly travelling over her. He reached for her, his lips parting for some sentiment or sneer. He stood straight quite abruptly when Loki pressed a finger to his lips as a long, silencing hiss rushed past them. "Careful. You wouldn't want to wake her," he whispered, his grin barely restrained. His voice was like a gentle _tisk_ of discouragement. "I must insist that her rest remain uninterrupted."

The guard turned, rising to his subtle taunt. "She does seem much more beautiful in sleep – a lot less trouble. Though I do miss the sounds she made." He was chilled to even imagine it. Even muffled through ice, those sounds were clear enough. And he could never forget. "Suppose she even enjoyed it?"

"I doubt that very severely."

"And why would you doubt that? Do you think her so prude? You hid behind your seidr as you always have. You didn't see what I saw."

Loki didn't wait for elaboration. To hear anything of his perspective would bring an indefinite end to his sanity. "The sounds of you mauling her like an animal were unmistakable with or without my skills. I didn't need to watch to know the type of brute you are. You would suffocate your whores as soon as fall asleep on them." The guard came forward in a sudden huff. _So easily provoked._ "Fortunately, she escaped with only mental trauma and slow healing scars."

"Fortunately? Is that a hint of genuine concern, I hear? From the God of Lies?"

"Fortunately, for you," he amended with a smile.

The guard frowned with a very sharp spike of fear, before he smothered it in empty threats and a boisterous show of non-existent power. "You think yourself so righteous! You walk and talk like you are entitled to everything! But you are nothing more than a captive – a prisoner. You've nothing to hold over my head and I will do to her as a please. And there's not a thing you can do about it!"

_ I should have done something – I _will _do something._ So this time he watched. He watched as his mirror image wrapped a hand around him, mouth smothered, neck drawn back and exposed. And then he poised his blade against the pulse of his throat. Loki smiled seeing the panic flare in his eyes and the realization of who held the real power among them. Underestimated yet again. Squirming and twisting, Loki had him completely pinned against the glass. "You will _never_ touch her again," Loki breathed, coming to meet him at the glass. The guard nodded against his hold, his breath heavy through his nostrils. And he believed that hint of assurance – of promise – would save him. Loki laughed. "And I'm going to make certain of it." The guard gave a shallow cry, muffled by his duplicate's grip on his jaw. If he had even an inkling what he was in for, he should beg. He should _scream_. "Suppose you might even enjoy it?"

Loki could feel his victim's heart pounding in his chest, the blood rushing under the sharp edge of his blade. He drew the tip along his collarbone, blood escaping in its wake, crawling in tendrils under the hem of his shirt. How generous of him to come without his armor. He traced the bone with one long, deep line until he saw the beige surface beneath the skin. There was the scream, though nearly muted by his hand. But the sound made him shiver.

He thought about Naomi. He thought about the pain she'd suffered. That cold, utterly defeated look in her eyes was forever ingrained in his memory. He thought about how that single horrific occurrence had utterly ruined her. This man had stolen and destroyed the brash, stubborn, carefree woman he'd known. Now, how could he convey how he felt about that?

Scarlet stained knife now poised against his Adam's apple, Loki thoughtfully eyed his visibly pulsating jugular. He licked his lips and offered the guard a long, toothy grin. "If I had it my way," he whispered, "I would see that you suffer an eternity and a half before you finally die. I would see you gutted and skinned a thousand times over, but I won't risk your return. I made the mistake of allowing you the opportunity to harm her before, but never again."

Loki stared into his widening blue eyes, reveling in his terror. The skin split and the blood finally escaped as he pierced the artery. His projection dragged the blade down, following the trail all the way back down his neck. His blood dripped rhythmically to the floor, forming a puddle and soon a small lake; his last few heartbeats splattered the glass. And then his eyes turned steely and gray and lifeless. And beautiful. Then his body hung limp in his arms. His clone stood stark still with the body still hanging in his grasp, as Loki's eyes met those of their onlooker. The other guard. He hadn't moved. He had reached the foot of the stairs at some point, but hadn't gone any further. Not after watching Loki's little atrocity – his little act of revenge. Loki went back to his chair, relaxing, projecting his thoughts back into his doppelganger. He walked up to the edge of the cell, pushing the dead guard closer until the barrier parted along with the glass. And then he let him drop out onto the stone.

"Consider this your only warning," he said, the duplicate vanishing. "If you ever return here, you'll see a fate far worse than his. Now take your friend and go." The other guard eyed the corpse, continuing to bleed out on the floor.

"What shall I do with him?" the other man meekly asked.

Loki's eyes flashed open. "Dispose of him! Burn him! Dismember him and feed him to the hounds! Drop him off the edge of the Bifrost! I don't care what becomes of his bloody corpse; he no longer has use of it and neither do I."

He scurried cautiously forward, eyes on Loki's feet to avoid his gaze. He grabbed his dead friend, hauling him over his shoulder before hurrying up the stairs without another word. Loki grinned when he caught the look of revulsion as it passed over his face along with a sudden loss of color. Before he reached the top, he would be coated in the remains of his friend, the stench and stain imbedded in his clothes. And he would live with the knowledge that he helped make it possible. Each received their just reward from what they did to her and for the first time since this ordeal began, he felt his gut unclench as some form of relief set in. He had guaranteed her safety – from the guards at least. If all went well, rumors would spread and all of the palace staff would know better than to come anywhere near her again. She was _his._ And no such harm would ever befall her again.

With their silence restored, he felt better. Infinitely better. Were she conscious on some level – or the level he wished she was – she would not have approved but she would have been grateful. Or so he hoped. But more than likely, she would still see him as the monster he was. All he remembered was the look on her face that night – the last night she spoke to him. _You didn't do anything. You just stood there._ No matter what he said or thought or did, the fault stuck with him. He only hoped he had somehow made amends for it. She was one of the few people whose company he had actually come to appreciate. He'd only come to that conclusion when she nearly disappeared. It was both odd and incredible, this notion of attachment. No. It wasn't attachment. To this day, he still had no name for it. But it remained a comforting luxury in the swirling silence of this endless captivity.

He waited a few moments – but only a few moments – before he joined her again. With their lunch splattered all over the floor, they wouldn't be bothered for at least a few hours. But it also meant he wouldn't be able to feed her anything until tonight. But she would manage, he thought, especially after surviving several weeks without it. For now, she would sleep.

Loki sat down at the head of her cot, tugging her into his lap. She responded as she had every time since he managed his way in here, drowsily curling into his lap without even waking up. She whined when she accidentally pressed her cheek too hard against his chest. The bruise beneath her eye was still a deep purple. At this point, her inability to chew anything more solid than pears had more to do with the fracture to her eye and less with her state of consciousness. He secured a hand underneath her chin and turned her head so it wasn't bumped. Looking it over more closely, he wished his magic wasn't so limited so that he could just heal her. The swelling was coming back again. Well, there was one thing he could do for her.

His hand faded from his Aesir coloration to that unholy shade of blue. The genial markings of his mother world returned and with them the cold. His fingertips grazed the swell in her cheek and she shuddered, tugging the blanket tighter. But once he'd contained the cold to the area of inflammation, she seemed content. The cool penetrated her skin until it was pleasurably numb, or so he thought since she tried to snuggle her face against him again.

With cool hands, he cataloged the many bumps and breaks and bruises – one day soon he would see her whole again. He ran his hand down her arm. Her elbow was a tad askew and her wrist had a tiny break as well. The force with which the guard had grabbed her would not have been enough to seriously harm another Aesir but as a mortal, she was so, so fragile. That simple jerking motion and the blow to follow had managed to throw her entire arm out of whack. The other arm had only seen some minor bruising thankfully. When the swelling subsided with the cold, he moved on again.

Pulling the blanket aside, he quickly examined the rest of her. Her thighs were bruised where she'd been grabbed. And her hip as well – though that may have been fractured as well. He tried to feel for it, running his hand across the overly-defined bone. He frowned as his hand ghosted her skin – skin he imagined so soft and warm – but he could never know. Not like this.

He looked himself over as if something had changed. But nothing had changed. Things were just as they had been. Tangible but senseless. Whole enough to make contact but still hollow. It was a fight to see through his surrogate's eyes. No matter how close he was she always seemed distant. Her voice, sometimes he could hear it from where he sat in his own cell, but when he couldn't, it was only an echo through his doppelganger's ears – a shadow of what it had been. But touch – anything remotely tactile was non-existent. He felt _nothing_.

Loki opened his eyes, his clone mindlessly continuing its crusade. _It's such a horrible irony. I have always been seen as so unfeeling and now I don't have a choice. _But he watched from his perch as she burrowed against him, so obviously comforted in spite of that. Comforted by his presence – his touch. However unfeeling _he_ had to be. It would be worth it, he thought, his mind travelling back to the clone. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, tucking it in around her. It would only be a few hours until the dinner delivery required his retreat. But for now it was enough.

He ran his fingers through her hair, imagining the soft curls between his fingertips. His knuckles brushed against the soft line of her jaw and she nestled her cheek to it. He shuddered and he couldn't even feel it. And he almost felt the smile he saw as it pulled upon her lips. For now, it was enough.

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TADA! And holy crap! It's not a cliff hanger! I'm usually terrible with those... Teeanks so much for reading! I love all of you nice people! xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

This freaking chapter... was an absolute jigsaw of dialogue. I have rearranged it so many times I don't even know what it looked like to start O.o

But it's done. Or as done as it will ever be! I was going to post this like an hour ago but there was a picture of Loki in a collar and I got really distracted. Marvel is just watching the fandom squirm with all of this nonsense...

But while we're all stuck _patiently_ waiting for this freaking movie... have fun with a new chapter ma lovelies! Extra love to my chronic reviewers! You guys are the best! XOXOXO (P.S. I prefer to make little hearts but this website won't let me...)

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Naomi awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright so fast her head was spinning for a long time afterward. When her eyes finally refocused on the world around her, it took her a very long moment to even remember where she was, let alone how she'd gotten there and what the heck had happened. _I'm still here?_ Once the memories began to refill themselves, it made sense that she was still here. She had absolutely no memory of an escape. Thinking about it, there were a lot of missing memories. In attempting to recall the night before, there was nothing. Locked in a tiny room with no daylight to discern the passage of time, it was impossible to know.

She ducked under her cot and pulled out her phone. The battery was nearly dead, but the date and time were still clearly displayed. The date of her kidnapping stuck well, thankfully. But then – that didn't add up. She carefully counted the tallies etched into the stone. There was more than a week's worth of time unaccounted for. _How is that possible?_ Even after a double and a triple check – she couldn't place all the days she had missed. What the heck had happened? After a moment or two, a few things filtered back. Sweet nothings of boredom and strong words. And pain. _Oh my god. _A vision – a vivid nightmare – of two guards. _Oh my god. I was – I was – and all this time – I can't remember. _She felt suddenly sick, imagining all that could have gone on. An entire week.

Her eyes darted around the room. Nothing new. Nothing new. And then her eyes locked on a very large bloodstain on the floor across the cell. The glass had drips, dark and dry like the aged pool on the floor. _Oh my god. Oh my god. What happened? What happened!_

Stumbling terribly, she charged into the bathroom, bracing the rim of the sink. She heaved into it, very quickly losing the contents of her stomach. Once her nauseated innards had calmed, she rinsed out her mouth and splashed the cool water on her face. Her reflection stared back at her with empty eyes as the beads of water rolled down her face, catching in her eyebrows and stinging her eyes along with the familiar laceration beneath it. Her skin was so pale from the lack of sun and she felt almost skeletal after so many long days without food. Naomi frowned, peering into the watered down contents of the sink. There was most certainly food in there. She could taste it on her tongue, despite the rinse.

She wandered back out of the bathroom, still toweling off her face. She had absolutely no memory of eating and yet her stomach didn't ache with hunger. Of course, her appetite had completely disappeared in the last few minutes. What the heck had happened? _Loki._ The thought slipped into her mind and she felt instantly better, though she had no idea why. Last she recalled, he stood by and let her be raped. Glancing into his cell, she was greeted with another unfamiliar sight. Her unusually stoic prison companion was laid out on the floor as if he'd collapsed there, halfway between the pane of glass and his bed. What the heck had happened?

All of the sudden he stirred, waking nearly as suddenly as she had, startled awake by something she hadn't heard or seen. He sat up, his entire spine creaking with pain. Before he looked even coherent enough to form logical thought, his gaze focused into her cell, first toward her empty cot and then on her. He was panicked and completely relieved within the span of a few seconds. She saw exhaustion in his beautiful green eyes – a deeply ingrained weariness that hadn't been there before. "Are you all right?" he finally asked, his voice cracking to match his haggard exterior. The sincerity was a new one too. She nodded, her expression barely shifting from her usual guarded curiosity. "I wasn't sure you'd be up and about so soon." Naomi only continued to stare. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

What smile he had slowly vanished. "You were sick," he said quietly. "You were starving – _dying_." She could barely recall. The last thing she remembered was just another day in this cell – hungry, but to what degree she wasn't sure. Had it really gotten so bad? Several weeks was a long time to not eat. Her hands touched her stomach and she could easily outline each of her ribs in detail. She could actually identify where a few of them had cracked in her horrible encounter. The fracture to her elbow just as evident. Her fingers traced her collarbones and sternum. The ridges of the bones. Loki spoke the truth. And if he did, her body would have gone into survival mode – it would've shut down and slowly turned upon itself. And yet, she was alive now, feeling better than she had in days.

"They did eventually feed me," she morbidly joked.

Loki looked far less than amused. "No. They didn't. They were going to let you die." His tone gave her chills. "I can hardly fathom why they would go to the trouble of bringing you here if only to let you starve to death."

"So what happened to me?"

Loki frowned deeply. "You don't remember anything do you?"

Naomi watched as he sunk further and further into despair. Suddenly she felt sick again. He didn't explain. He gave no elaboration at all, just scooted back into his usual spot and his usual funk. She sat down at the edge of her cot without making a sound, watching out of the corner of her eye, hoping maybe he'd say something more. Except he said nothing. Nothing at all.

Lunch came and went, proving Loki's claim. Either they sought to see her dead or they simply didn't care. Loki retained his state of unresponsiveness the entire time the guards were present and long after they had gone. He only sat there, head leaned against the wall, staring at the insides of his eyelids. The same was true of dinner. They replaced his food, completely untouched.

He had a tendency to sulk but this time it seemed more serious than before. And she couldn't remember enough to know why.

It should have been obvious, she thought. If her captors hadn't saved her, then someone else had. She glanced at Loki again. But he couldn't have. He wouldn't have. _Would he?_ He was cruel and oh-so-willing to see her suffer – she glanced at him again. It certainly didn't seem that way now. She lay back in her cot, clenching her eyes shut, trying to remember the many long days she had missed. Naomi had practically put herself to sleep before something came back to her. Panic and desperation and then eventually relief. Sustenance. A caretaker. Comfort in a place she didn't think it could exist. She felt herself lulled to sleep, curled up, hands fisted in the fabric of someone's shirt. She had barely been conscious for that entire time, it's a wonder she remembered anything at all. _Thank you, Loki._ His large hand, slightly cooler than the rest of him, wrapped gently around her own.

_"You're going to be safe now. I'm going to take care of you. I promise."_

She opened her eyes again.

He saved her. Loki, this acclaimed god, this slaughter hungry felon, had saved her. _Could it be possible?_ After everything that happened – after the things he'd said – was it possible? As much as he seemed disconnected from the whole of it, his concern was genuine. Heartfelt even. Her legs hung over the edge of the cot as she glanced into his cell to where he still sat on the floor. He had saved her. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how but he – of all people – had saved her.

Naomi rolled over, carefully avoiding her injured arm. Loki still sat against the wall. Still unmoving, she wasn't even sure if he was breathing. Naomi cleared her throat, hoping maybe to get his attention. Not even the quirk of an eyebrow. He was looking almost as frail as she was – without movement he looked dead. But a shadow of him still existed in her subconscious, one that was kinder and gentler than she would have ever guessed. Arms wrapped around herself, she wandered toward that single pane of glass. "Did you save me?" she asked quietly. There might have been a fraction of a response. His shoulder may have twitched. "Loki?" Nothing. "I feel like I remember certain things, but I don't know if they happened or not." Loki finally looked up, eyes hollow and empty but more notably tired. "Did you save me?"

"If that is how you choose to see it."

"Thank you – I'm not sure how you did it, but thank you."

"This place does not become you, Naomi. You deserve far better than a life in captivity, despite what I said before."

"How do you know my name?"

"You told it to me." That, as well, was only a shadow in her subconscious. "You were dying – and I wasn't sure if I could save you. I thought it best to at least know your name before-" He didn't finish.

"Why did you do it?" The question surprised him. "Obviously, you didn't have to. What did you have to gain? Why save me? I mean – after last time, I thought-"

"I'm not proud of what happened the last time," he said quickly.

"Then why?"

That answer eluded him slightly longer. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "I am just so sorry for what was done to you. And that alone for me is remarkable. But since that night it has been sickening to think about. I should have done something and I'm sorry." An apology past his lips sounded as unnatural as he thought it did. "And then I saw you getting sick – starving." Loki shook his head. "You have heart – and you're strong. I am the god of lies and treachery and deceit. My sense of honor is nearly non-existent and I hold no code of conduct. But I was not about to sit here and watch you die that way." He stared at her almost in admiration. How could she have so harshly misjudged him? "And besides, I haven't had anyone worth conversing with in a long time. It would have hurt too much to see you go. It was more than worth my strength to see you safe and healthy again."

She could only stare for a moment, the reality of his confession not totally settled yet. As soon as the tiniest bit of it made sense to her, she was pleasantly shocked. "Thank you, Loki."

He grinned weakly, sitting up against the wall. "It was my pleasure, love."

More of her half-imagined foggy thoughts slipped through her consciousness. His long fingers sliding through her thick curly hair, ghosting the back of her neck. She recalled a cold sweat, blotted lightly from her forehead. His tender, loving care for so many long nights. A promise of protection. Whisperings of freedom. A soft kiss on her temple. She quirked an eyebrow as she smothered a tiny blush. "How did you get in here?" In all of her half-formed images of him, never had that pane of glass been involved. It was just him. In the flesh. However impossible it seemed.

A wry grin crossed his face and then he closed his eyes as a pained look overtook him. She was moderately concerned for a moment before he appeared in the cell beside her. It was a serious fight not to jump out of her skin. She looked him over in person, taking note of the fact the Loki she'd been speaking to hadn't moved. He still sat there, concentration ingrained in his features. "Just like that," he said, his voice sounding slightly strained.

Naomi circled him, looking him up and down. They were very obviously the same person, but still vastly different. His hair was slicked back and only half as curly, but the same raven black. His garb was particularly more expensive looking, a mix of deep green and gold. Real gold. Overall, his demeanor seemed better and his façade was infinitely more regal. She didn't know if he was a god, but if aura was anything to consider, he certainly could be. "Astral projection?" she asked.

"Not exactly." She reached out to him, with the intention to poke him – the illusion option still a possibility. But he quickly snagged her hand, his cold skin sending chills up her arm. "It's a bit more tangible than that." The voice came from his clone this time, the melodic tone resonating in his chest. She felt it in the very marrow of her bones. And his hand – no sooner had he spoke, did his firm and assertive hold conform to a cool and gentle caress, his fingertips barely brushing the back of her hand. She felt another wave of chills as she found her mind urging her to yank her hand away. But she quickly centered her thoughts again.

"I thought you said your magic didn't work outside your cell."

"The cell that contains us is surrounded by a barrier that prevents my magic from escaping. I only recently discovered that the enchantment is weaker between us. It's enough," he added. He took her other hand, but only a moment before his touch trailed up her arms – one hand over her shoulder until he'd worked his fingers into the hair on the back of her neck. Her entire body shook but whether from fear or desire, she couldn't be sure. His stare was painfully intense and she only broke it to glance at Loki still sitting in his cell. The longer she watched him, the heavier the weight on him became. She saw him twitch with all of his muscles pulled taut. His every movement looked pained. "You're safe now. And I will never let anyone harm you again."

She felt the assurance in his grip – the lightest tug on the nape of her neck, his lips almost forming a smile. The same tired smile she'd seen before. But this time his eyes spoke of sadness and longing, those glassy emerald pools glistening with something she hadn't seen in him before. Even if it was somehow familiar. The hand that gently massaged the back of her neck was soothing – but at the same time disconcerting. He tilted her head back leaving her neck thoughtlessly exposed. "Loki-" she breathed, her voice starting to shake as well. She could feel his breath against her cheek as he leaned closer again, his eyes half lidded, but this new notion of longing was ever present. It warmed her. Somewhere. Some place she couldn't quite reach. But as his cheek brushed the column of her throat and his lips were just barely pressed against her skin, she fumbled out of his embrace, panic superseding everything else.

Her entire body still shook as her heart raced and she clumsily found her cot again before she collapsed. She found herself staring at a very rumpled pile of sheets across the room, remembering what she'd hoped to forget and still forgetting what she wished she could remember. She curled inward, her mind attempting to hole itself up where it wouldn't be found as the panic – induced by memories still so jarring – coursed through her so fast that for a moment she saw nothing but darkness until the world came into focus again.

"Naomi?" Loki called again – quietly – cautiously. "Naomi?"

Finally she looked up at him, her eyes still wide and lost and terrified. But Loki had retreated, his duplicate form standing nearly on the other side of the cell, while the real Loki was standing only a breath away from the glass watching her with the same panicked stare. She pinched her eyes shut, trying to swallow the anxiety, only to have it stick in her throat. "Are you all right?"

Naomi managed a nod after a moment, without being terribly reassuring. She glanced at the discarded sheets again. "I didn't mean to upset you," Loki said. "I only thought-" She watched him shift uncomfortably, his gaze now centered on the floor. His hands twisted with one another and she watched as the real Loki's brow further furrowed. "I'm sorry."

The hurt in his voice was tangible in spite of who she had previously assumed him to be. She remembered their last conversation. The concern had been there, but at the time, she'd been too humiliated and traumatized to take notice of it. But for someone who was supposedly the God of Lies, his sincerity was heartbreaking. "Don't be sorry."

"No. I mean it." All softness disappeared from his voice then, swiftly replaced with a gruff undertone she did very clearly remember. His eyes looked her over again and then found the ruined sheets she'd been staring at. "I should have done something. What happened to you – I let it happen. And since then I have blamed myself for it. I can't escape it. I can't escape any of it! But this more than anything. I did this to you."

His gaze finally settled across the cell, on the bloodstain she was still ignorantly unsettled by. "You – by some means – have gotten under my skin. Though it sickens me to admit it." He slowly approached her again, caution clear in his step. "I feel so protective of you," he admitted. "Before – when you were sick – you were different – different with me." There was another wave of memories, the tide drawing them closer to the surface. His protection. His closeness. His touch. And her own unconscious acceptance of it. But it wasn't solely acceptance. "But I suppose you can think more clearly now," Loki continued.

_Not exactly._ If anything, clarity had deserted her even further. The entire world was foggy and not a single thing made sense. It was all half-remembered and misplaced and out of order. She remembered his comfort. She knew, without a doubt it was there, but for now it was masked by the horrors that preceded it. But it wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault.

"That isn't fair," she replied rather roughly. "That's not fair to either of us. I – I can barely remember twenty minutes ago. Forgive me for being a little lost and a little _fucking _confused. Whatever happened – I don't regret it. You saved my life and I'm grateful, but it wasn't your fault. It was not your fault. None of it." She still saw the defeat and imagined rejection, pooling like dark circles under his eyes. She stood and approached him, and then with as little hesitancy as she could manage, she wrapped her arms around his neck and just stood there, hoping he would understand. She owed him this much.

After a long moment, his body relaxed with a long and tired sigh. She felt his arms wrap around her waist, but she noted how his hands didn't touch her. Not this time. And of that she was silently thankful. _Not yet. Just not yet._

"I just need a little more time, okay?" He hushed her. That cool wisp of air against the shell of her ear.

"It's all right," he conceded at last. His hand unwrapped from her waist, his wrist making a long fluid motion until some kind of pastry appeared. "Eat. Rest. And get better." He tucked whatever it was into her hand and gave her one final squeeze. "Goodnight, Naomi."

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Hooray! A little glimpse of the Naomi we used to know. And Loki continuing to be confused and irritable and all that other Loki stuff...

The next chapter is unfortunately not reading and awaiting editing like those in the past... I actually have to write them this time... So I have no idea when they next one will be posted. I pray within a week but I sort of have this research paper that I should be writing... prepare to witness the epitome of procrastination! And in all fairness, Loki was here first.

Until next time! Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

One week on the dot. Isn't that a freaking miracle? I was so sure this one wasn't going to be done anytime in the near future. Stupid chapter... sits there for a week and then all of the sudden writes itself... / adsdftcnscbsufnfj! You... stupid story and your stupid everything...

That's saying nothing for all this Thor 2 stuff... THE FUDGE! MY FEELS ARE BEING DESTROYED AND THE MOVIE ISN'T EVEN OUT YET! Loki screaming... don't even get me started... O.O

Okay... rant over... ENJOY!

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Loki waited for her to settle again before he even thought about sleep. He retreated back into his own space, curling into his chair, too tired to even read. But he waited. She sat at the edge of her cot, nibbling without comment on the food he had given her. And after she'd done away with most of it, she finally went to sleep, wrapping herself up in her blanket with a quiet sigh. He mirrored her relief-filled exhale as he finally dropped into his own bed. He fumbled briefly with the sheets before giving up completely and just flopping onto his back. The ceiling was a lovely view so long as his body was free to relax against a mattress. And not the floor, which had been the case more than once in the past few weeks.

His mind drifted but sleep still eluded him, so he was simply dragged along by his erratic train of thought. But he knew ultimately where it would lead. For weeks, even without consciousness, she commanded his attention. And try as he might to put her aside – to ignore her or escape her for even a moment – it always came back to her. _Naomi._

Tonight had not been the smooth transition to the waking world that he had hoped for. It had never occurred to him that in her foggy state of mind she might not remember anything. She had taken so much comfort in his presence for all those nights, but without any forethought or logic, she didn't have time to consider that she had curled into the lap of a frost giant – that with that alone she had taken her life into her own hands. How easily could he have done to her what he did to the guards? How easily could he have done to her what those mindless animals had done to her? _The monster parents tell their children about at night._

It hurt, like a wolf had made a meal of his heart, to recall her receptive, adoring self, but see the fear that struck her when he got too close. No closer than they had been before, but she knew better now – knew that he couldn't be trusted. Even in her short and voluntary embrace, he felt her heart race against his own. She was afraid. A fraction of her panic attack before, but still measurable terror. And rightly so. He could hardly place his own intent in this situation and he couldn't trust himself not to harm her. Because that was where every road ended for him. Pain and disappointment. _The monster parents tell their children about at night._

But Naomi didn't seem to see it that way. With the way she reacted, it probably had more to do with her last disgustingly intimate encounter. _It was never my intent to make her uncomfortable – and certainly not to scare her._ But he couldn't resist. Before she had been rather receptive, but now things were different. Her shell of sarcasm and insults got in the way. What happened to her got in the way. _This damn pane of glass is in the way._ But it was more than comforting to see even a glimpse of who she was before all of this. She was still in there somewhere. She just needed a little more time.

For a while, it was only wishful thinking that things could be this way. After the utter desertion she felt, she had been more than certain she would die in this place – alone and forgotten. _Alone and forgotten. _His doppelganger disappeared, but Loki was still there. Still present. And still – against her previous expectations – watching over her. He didn't retreat into his usual solitude. He wasn't closed off anymore. He meant to protect her, he said so himself. It wasn't another one of her imagined inferences this time. For whatever reason – regret as it seemed – he cared for her. That thought continued to float around in her head, never quite settling. After tonight – after being shocked into this surreal state of existence – the simplest things made no sense anymore.

Loki flopped into his chair looking dead tired, but he didn't sleep. He didn't even get into bed until she had done so first. Once she slipped back into her cot, he finally retired. He all but collapsed into his bed, not even bothering with the sheets. And he was shortly asleep after that.

Surely this was just a dream? _What the heck happened these past few days? _She wrapped herself tighter in her blanket – the one Loki had obviously gifted to her. How could she even begin to believe all of this? _What the heck could have happened to change him so dramatically?_ He went from this brooding, acerbic, and dejected shell of a person – alien – god – _whatever_ – to being this nurturing caretaker. He had gone from selfish to selfless in an instant with some miraculous change of heart. Surely she was just comatose or something? _Yes, that's it. I starved to the point of no return and I am simply imagining all of this so that I kick the bucket on a wishfully pleasant note._ That made so much more sense. Of course, if it was all about wish fulfillment, why would she be so determined to prove otherwise?

She rolled over, tugging the blanket over her head, trying not to scream into the upholstery like she so desperately wanted to. First she'd spent weeks trying to prove him something other than the villain and now having proven that theory, she was trying to convince herself this too was all a mask to hide some true and malicious intent. She rolled her eyes, irritated with her own indecisiveness. Her increasingly hypocritical nature – wanting something so desperately only to refuse it when presented with it. That was just stupid.

Recalling their first few days together, she knew exactly how she felt about him, in spite of the front she held – the mask she wore. The mask she needed to survive. He was beautiful and alluring and manically charming, in spite of most likely being some sort of sociopath, and she was drawn to the whole of him like a moth to a flame. And all this time spent trying to justify that illogical attraction and then escape it all together, she suffocated herself in that pit of despair she'd been swimming around in for so long. On top of everything else, it could have killed her this time. Even with clear memory, she knew how sickly she probably became. And in that moment, she felt her unconscious mind willing him away – that she wasn't worth saving – that she wasn't worth even the affection she'd imagined of him. And then there was the darkest void in her memory. It should have been an end. It should have been the end of so much pain and torment. An end to their game of hide-and-seek. Good versus evil.

But she woke up.

And not to the hopelessness she remembered. Loki stood there with this inherent need to protect her and care for her, in spite of her cold and unyielding exterior for most of their time down here. Of all the things she had ever expected of him, she had hoped it would never be this. Because in her heart of hearts, she could never resist him now. The horrible person he had previously claimed to be would not be enough anymore. And it was clear now that she had not imagined his affection. Not even slightly. Their previous back and forth dialogue pertaining to such things, she had only spoken in jest – a taunt. _Who are you trying to fool? You did it because you liked it and because you had a pane of glass to protect you. _Which left her all the more terrified to have that obstacle removed. _This is real._

She tried to think what might have been if not for the unpleasant occurrences that led them to this point. If she hadn't been – _raped_ – if that hadn't happened – if she hadn't blamed him and fell into her own funk, he might not have saved her. But maybe he would have. She remembered the look in his eyes afterward. Defeat. He tried or wanted to try but didn't have the means. But she blamed him anyway. All of that brought them here, to this mess of a relationship. But all of that left her here, dropped her here in this vat of untamed space with the memories of what led them here threatening to drown her with panic.

_If I hadn't been attacked, he wouldn't show this affection. If I hadn't been attacked, perhaps I could accept it._

_But I already have?_

The memories were just so damn foggy, but judging by Loki's sudden dejection, maybe she already had. His comfort was a vague sensation, but a recognizable one. There was no panic then. There had been no thought – no over-thinking to get in the way.

She pushed the blanket off of her head, glancing into Loki's cell. He was barely visible past the foot of the bed, other than something vaguely resembling his mop of curly black hair. She lay out on her back, twiddling her fingers in her lap, her nagging curiosity finally getting the better of her. "Are you awake?" she asked quietly, her voice breaking the silence.

She heard him sigh after a moment. "You should be asleep."

"I'm not tired. What are you my mother?"

He laughed before his voice settled back into its sleepy state. "I am endlessly happy to have you back, darling."

She smiled, staring smittenly at the ceiling. "How was I different?" she asked after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"Before, when I was sick, you said I was different. What was different?"

"You were more open," he spoke into the empty space with something sounding like nostalgia.

No pain. No panic. Barely conscious thought. That was a dangerous notion. "We didn't do anything weird right?"

She heard his smile and a mostly silent laugh. "No," he assured her, obviously aware of her concern. "You were babbling indiscriminately for a bit, if that constitutes _weird_."

Naomi breathed a silent sigh of relief. "No. I suppose I've done weirder things before." She sat up, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. Peering over the headboard she could barely make out his features in the dark, though the angle was strange. "Can you feel what he feels?" Loki sat up a bit until she could clearly outline him in the dark.

"You mean my projection?" She nodded. "No," he quickly replied. "Only shadows of sensations." He finally met her stare, emerald gaze steeled for her response, but she only watched and waited for him to continue. "Under normal circumstances, I can completely impart my consciousness. I can often move freely between them, but not in here. In here, even the projection is a challenge. It's hard to focus through it. Controlling it is second nature to me, but to even see through its eyes is hard. Tactile sensation is almost impossible in here."

She stared into her lap, gently twining her fingers, clearly remembering the feel of his hand around hers. _It wasn't real?_ Her fingers brushed her neck – the place where his lips had just barely touched. It was like a wisp of cool air against her skin. And it was still there, even now. The chill – the shiver that rolled down her spine was still there too. All of it certainly felt real – it had pretty much given her a panic attack. "Why do you ask?" Naomi said nothing. Perhaps she had only wondered. But why then would he even bother to touch her if he felt nothing? That was like self-inflicted torment. "Do you want it to be real?"

Her imagination escaped for a moment and before she'd reined it in again she felt that familiar spike of heat. It warmed her all over and was shortly promoting panic again. She bit her lip and forced it down. She saw the disappointment contorting his face already. "I don't know," she said honestly. _I don't know._

"You're afraid."

"Yes," she admitted sourly.

"Of me?"

"No. No, I'm just afraid. I don't – I mean, I know what I'm afraid of. But it's complicated." She tried to gather her careening thoughts, but they were mostly jumbled beyond repair. "I'm not afraid of you," she said firmly. "I'm afraid of how I feel about you."

"And how do you feel about me?"

"I believe we share a mutual affection," she said quietly, watching his green eyes for response. He didn't quite smile, but she could see his relief. "It just terrifies me. I still haven't come to terms with everything that's already happened. It's just-"

"You just need a little more time?"

"Yes," she sighed.

Loki sat all the way up, hanging slightly forward, massaging the sleep from his eyes. "I don't want you to be afraid – I don't want to see you like I saw you before. You showed me a side of you that I am both honored and terrified to know. No one has ever sought my comfort, nor have I ever obliged it. I know this has more to do with those guards than anything, and I would never, _never_ do anything to harm you as they did. When you panicked earlier, I thought – well, I hope you know that was not my intent."

"No, I know. That's not how I wanted to react either."

"When you first came here, when you first approached me, I know you only did so for the sake of camaraderie. We're both trapped down here and it seems only fitting. I can't ignore you anymore, not after all this. But we have little but time down here. Take all that you need."

Naomi smiled, an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. And with her mind no longer hounded with nagging questions, tiredness hit her from all sides. The blanket was suddenly so much warmer. The bed so much comfier. She curled up, tucked the blanket under her chin as sleep called her name louder and louder with each passing minute. _If this is a dream, please let me sleep._ "Goodnight Loki." She could have sworn she felt his cool lips press softly against her forehead as consciousness began to drift away.

_"Goodnight Naomi."_

And this time she slept.

* * *

Hope you liked it! A little less angsty and emotionally trying I think... we all needed a little reprieve. Before things get terrible again... sorry about that... Thank you as always for reviewing and favoriting and following and putting up with all of my shenanigans... xoxoxo


	12. Chapter 12

So sorry for the wait everyone! Life got really freaking crazy there for a while… _granted it's still sorta crazy_ but whatever! I've made serious progress on my Loki costume and finally had a moment to finish this chapter HOORAY! I used my _I'm avoiding tumblr because of Thor 2 spoilers _time to work on this… P.S. THE SPOILERS ARE EVERYWHERE *not happy*

BUT! I have the most amazing news in the history of EVER! I met Tom Hiddleston! O_O asftdcmeeycnskfhcydntagadsftcbeywicnwlfdvwjfcncsen fkvc! It's been days and I still sorta don't believe it… Ima just be floating around in uber happy fangirl land until I don't know when… I totally snuggled into his neck and he was totally cool with it. In fact, he made an adorable noise when he saw the picture. *still drowning in all the feels* If anyone wants details on that little adventure I posted about it on my tumblr here: post/65738107204/so-i-met-tom-hiddleston

And now this next chapter before I totally distract myself… _We're getting closer._

Take that however you will. In this chapter you can look forward to unloading of all major baggage and mad awful Loki feels. Cuz I'm mad about spoilers that apparently pertain to Loki feels and because I DO WHAT I WANT! And if any of you international followers/reviewers have seen the movie…

**_Do not spoil me or I will eat you. You have been warned._**

* * *

_I just need a little more time._

_We have little but time down here. Take all that you need._

_Just a little more time._

_Goodnight Naomi._

It was a funny thing down here, this idea of time. In the nearly two months since she'd arrived here, the days, hours, minutes had dragged by unforgivably slow. Fifty-six days. Fifty-six grueling days. Some better than others. But there were still fifty-six of them. It had been nearly a month since the guards had attacked her. It hadn't made her brood any less over it, but only time would ever heal that wound. Her eyes wandered over the tallies etched into the stone. She had updated it since her long lapse in consciousness. While some days were still cloudy in her memory, Loki's continued affection and care had resurrected much of the time they had shared. Or rather, time she sort of shared minus her normal state of awareness. Those were the twelve days that changed everything. Everyday after that was easier. The marks in the stone were less angry and insistent. And the endless span of time condensed.

She had never expected to find a companion down here and not a day since meeting him, did she think it could have been Loki. He was often miserable and brooding and evil, but when he wasn't, life in captivity was almost pleasant. _More than almost._ It wasn't so much of a hardship with him there to see her through it. Now it was more like being trapped indoors while it was raining as opposed to being imprisoned in a dungeon several thousand feet below ground for no freaking reason at all.

Everyday since she'd _awakened from her fog_ – as Loki had put it – he would find his way into her cell to share at least one meal with her, and whenever he couldn't, he'd be conjuring things into her cell as compensation, she supposed. She had already taken note of several tokens of his regret. The blanket, of course. New clothes. Well, not technically new. His reasoning for gifting her one of his shirts was that teleporting things was easier than creating them from nothing. Naomi was only half convinced, but regardless of intent, anything was better than the messy scraps she was trucking around in. The fabric was soft and warm, but the scent that stuck with it was dizzying. Even still, she loved it, though she shrugged it off as merely acceptable. He thought to offer a few of his books, but given they weren't written in English, he amended that he could read them to her instead. Somehow that seemed to be his preference. Not a horrible idea. After listening to him talk – and not yell – about things, she'd come to enjoy his eternally soothing tone.

_Among other things._

Loki offered her time. True to his word, he took a few steps back and stayed there. But she could see his restraint – his frustration. But it had more to do with their unfortunate circumstances than her reluctance to get closer to him. She couldn't. After learning that he could barely exist beyond that stupid pane of glass, she felt almost guilty. He'd made it his mandate to care for her, but at times it seemed almost painful. He shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but she could tell that it took a toll on him. Whatever enchantment was keeping them apart, it was strong enough that she urged him to only come through when it was necessary.

Of course, the idea of necessity seemed to elude him.

_Even if I somehow charged him admission, necessity would be the farthest thing from his mind._ While she was outwardly irritated by his persistence and his stupid, selfless, stubborn attitude, she was more grateful for his company than she could ever form with words.

His duplicate form sat cross-legged, his knees barely a breath from touching hers, as he continued to break off pieces from some weird bread he'd been delivered. It was like garlic focaccia on steroids. She had no experience with prison prior to this little escapade, but she was fairly certain what they served back home could only be classified as gruel. As far as Loki's half of the cell was concerned, this place was like first class captivity in comparison.

"I was a king," he explained.

"Yes, well, now you're a prisoner," Naomi joked.

Loki laughed. He actually laughed. Up until now she'd only been able to coax a smile out of him. And it was mostly short lived. Or terrifying. But his laugh, paired with a smile that wasn't entirely sinister, was utterly intoxicating. Suddenly she wanted to hear more of it and then none of it. Goosebumps again. She thoughtlessly shoved another piece of bread into her mouth to hide the slowly mounting discomfort. Leaning back, the dark green sleeves of her new shirt dusting her forearms, she glanced to where the real Loki still sat. He kept his eyes tightly shut, trying his hardest to focus through this surrogate body.

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

"What?" She turned back, having almost forgotten he was still sitting right in front of her.

"Does it bother you – what I've done? That I am a prisoner?"

"Oh." It took a moment longer after that to even remember to what he was referring: why he was here. As part of their very first conversation – his very first threat – he spoke of the atrocities he committed on her planet. He told her, as a means to frighten her, that he had led the invasion against New York. At the time it had been mildly startling, but under those circumstances, she hadn't needed to care very much about the semantics of the entire thing. Thinking about it now and imagining him slaughtering people in droves with that mirthful grin on his face – it was almost odd after seeing a side of him that most others probably didn't even know existed. She tried to picture it, but all she saw was his desperate attempt at comfort while she lay curled up in his lap. "I guess not," she decided at last. Though it probably should have.

Loki seemed genuinely unnerved. "It doesn't bother you that I thoughtlessly killed thousands of your people? It doesn't bother you – all of things I threatened to do? You care about none of that?"

"Well, I care, but it doesn't make me feel any different." She frowned. "I guess that makes me something of a hybristophiliac doesn't it?"

"Yes," Loki agreed soundly.

"So what does that make you?"

"A sadist, more than likely," he shrugged with another nibble on the bread. "But I've been called worse things before." She caught the humor loosed from the curve of his subtlest grin, but upon further recollection, he obviously found something not so humorous about it. "Everyone has ostracized me as a monster. Everyone, except you."

"I don't think you're a monster," she said with a shrug. "You're an ass hole sometimes," she quickly elaborated with a smile, "but monster seems a bit harsh." Loki was unconvinced, staring into a vacant corner of the cell. "Do you think you're a monster?"

"What?" It sounded as if the very question had offended him.

"Well you keep saying what everyone _else_ thinks of you, what do you think?" Loki didn't answer, stare as blank as before. But his thoughts on the matter were clear. Just in the few interactions with other people she'd witnessed down here, she saw it in the way he carried himself, in the way he reacted to them. Real or not, he behaved as if the entire world was against him. Maybe it was. "Does your brother think you're a monster?"

Loki went rigid, sitting straight up, his eyes burning holes through her own. "He is _not _my brother," he growled.

"Well he seemed to think so."

"Of course he does. He's too damn stupid to see the truth of that matter. And you need not concern yourself with it."

Naomi stilled, slightly biting her bottom lip. "I was only trying to help."

"Help," Loki huffed. "Don't think that because your sister hates you, you're suddenly an expert on my pathetic excuse for a family." He blanched so soon after the words left his mouth, she barely accounted for the transition. Not after she'd been totally paralyzed by that fatal jab. "Naomi – I didn't mean that."

"How do you know about my sister?"

He looked like he was going to be sick. "_Gods._ When you were sick – I – I thought you knew – I'm sorry."

"I had no idea what I was saying! How could you even ask me about something like that?" She already mirrored that sick feeling. _My sister._ It was a fight on a day-to-day basis to avoid thinking about her and the horrible mess she'd made of her life. Every single hardship she'd had to endure came back to her sister in some way or another. And Loki knew – _he knows._ "How could you do that?"

"Naomi – I didn't – I swear I didn't."

Her hand roughly massaged her face, trying to keep everything contained. "What else did I tell you?" she breathed. Part of her believed he wouldn't have asked, that she could have simply ranted like she'd been hypnotized but what if – _no._ He wouldn't have. _I don't want to believe that._ She watched him from the corner of her eye as he fussed, looking absolutely terrified. And when things seemed to come together again, he hardly resembled who he'd been only moments ago.

"Naomi – I'm sorry. But I didn't ask anything of you. Had I known it was not something you wished to disclose, I would have stopped you. But you spoke so freely. You were starved and sickly and delirious. You thought you were dying. You had yourself convinced you were going to die here alone and forgotten – abandoned by your family." Loki shook his head, still searching for an explanation. "I thought perhaps you trusted me. I thought you understood somehow – especially when you spoke now of my brother." Naomi relaxed slightly with his admission, but tensed at the same time to even sense a crack in Loki's normally fortified shell. "We share a certain familial struggle," he admitted soundly, before his voice grew uncertain again. "I was raised among royalty – among gods. For thousands of years, only to find my entire existence was a lie. I was born of a race of hated creatures and adopted out of pity – brought here for the sake of a future alliance. And it all came to light at so cruel a time in my life. My brother," the word alone didn't sit quite right on his tongue.

"My brother – he was a true Asgardian, the first born, the heir to the throne. I was raised under the assumption that it could've been me. That I stood as an equal. But I was alienated and outcast for being different. I was a magician not a warrior. I was smart and not strong. And to learn what I really was-" He stared with eyes that brimmed with hatred and revulsion, eyes trained on his own hand. "A monster." His hand looked almost blue with the strain as his hand fisted, before it disappeared into his lap.

"I localized my hatred – my pain – to my brother, just as your sister did to you. And to hear what it did to you – how she tore your family apart," his voice trailed off. "I destroyed the only family I had out of jealousy and anger and spite and revenge. Thor, that damnable oaf, he was too empty headed to see how his brazen attitude so harshly overshadowed me. He never saw how his acts of jest piled on top of one another in my chest until it was just this enormous knot of resentment I was hopeless to untie. And I let that pain fester for so long that when I finally snapped, he could never make amends – none that I would ever find the humility to accept. I was insane. I lost my mind. And I never tried to find it. I sold what was left of it to the first person willing to take advantage of it. And in a fruitless quest to prove my worth – to prove that I was equal to my damn brother, I took an entire planet captive. Not even to mention the one I nearly destroyed before that! I slaughtered people thoughtlessly. And for a cause I hardly cared for. I never wanted the throne. I only ever wanted to be accepted. But when you spoke of how badly your sister hurt you – _needlessly _and for her own selfish reasons – I realized that I had no worth to prove. No hope to be accepted for anything more than a monster!"

Naomi couldn't find words. Not a single one. To see him, this immovable mass of indiscernible negative emotion fall so suddenly vulnerable – it absolutely terrified her. And for a moment she was unsure she had the strength to bear the weight of such an admission. "Loki- I- I don't-"

"All that was done to you, I could have easily done myself – I have! And no matter what I do – no matter how much I regret – it will never change anything." She saw the sadness pool is his deep green eyes until his sleeve-covered wrist thwarted the escape of tears.

"I don't blame you. I told you that," she said finally, her voice only a whisper. Loki barely heard her. She watched him not even remembering how they ended up here. A hundred and eighty degree turn later and he'd gone from pleasant and happy to tortured and so so lost. It was a constant war between strength and pain. And he seemed poised right at the edge and she guessed, more than once, that he'd fallen all the way over.

She remembered that first moment she'd woken up. Over a week ago. Almost two. He sat on the floor as lifeless as a cadaver. And it had taken so little to drag him so low. A few misplaced words. While he had sulked, she had noted the mess of the outburst that came before she'd even fallen into her sickly state. A table was shattered and its contents had been walked over without concern. It had all just been kicked around since she'd last spoken to him. She could imagine him pacing, brow knotted with worry and anger and shame and a hundred other things he kept bottled tightly inside, but in the moment when it really mattered, his entire form softened and every trace of pain and anguish disappeared. If only for her sake.

And she had done the same for the people she cared for, bottled a thousand terrible things inside so they never had to see. So the pain didn't interfere with the happiness of others. But in the end, it couldn't be held in forever.

"Loki, I'm sorry." He didn't respond, only hung forward occasionally shaken with a tiny sob. For a moment she wondered if he'd gone back to his own body, but his original form was just as still. Just a lifeless. And lost. "Loki? Can you hear me?" She crawled timidly closer, reaching out for him before he just disappeared as he had a few times before. She curled her fingers around his – the first voluntary touch she had managed since waking up – but he didn't respond. As if he hadn't even felt it. _But he didn't, did he?_ "_Loki._" She cleared her throat even though he remained unresponsive. "I don't hate my sister," she said.

He glanced up, his eyes red and raw. "What?"

"I don't hate her for what she did to me, even though she may hate me. I could never stop loving her."

"But you said she tore your family apart. She was so unkind to you."

"She was. She told me that as soon as I was born, my parents stopped caring about her. She would yell at me and say that I was worthless and undeserving. But all the while, she was jealous of something I didn't have. For a long time, it upset me and things only got worse, but after a while – after she was gone – I didn't blame her. A troubled past, imagined or not, breeds pain and anger. You spend your whole life trying to escape a shadow – trying to be the better person. Jealousy leads to desperation. And then one day, you look back and you're a long way from home. You're not the person you used to be. You've done things you're not proud of – things you regret. But you figure it's too late to go back. So you stay the course because you figure, you've got nothing more to prove. Nothing worth living for. She found herself lost and alone – hopeless." Loki's grip tightened around hers. Whether he felt it or not, he knew it was there. "Is that what happened to you?"

She heard him sigh quietly, leaning closer, all color gone from his eyes. "Right on all accounts, love, apart from one: I _do_ have something worth living for. And eventually I shall find a way to show her that."

"You already have," she said with a smile. "Or have you already forgotten how I almost died a few days ago?"

"I was trying to forget."

Having made a significant recovery, the memories of that long and arduous week had come back. Despite how calm and comforting he had seemed, his fear was tangible. But that's not what she remembered. All she knew was his loving embrace and his endearingly forceful tone, willing her to get better again. Her hand shook as it reached for him and slowly came to rest against his cheek, the skin cold against her fingers. Her leaned into it as if the imagined sensation were the only thing in the world he needed to survive. "I don't want to forget."

She tugged him into the tightest embrace she could manage so that he might feel it. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed him as close as he could until he finally conceded his rigid and unforgiving exterior to bury his face in her mess of curly hair. "My sister hurt me very much but never irreparably so – never. If she came to me one day truly remorseful for what happened between us, I would love her just as I did before. She's not a monster, Loki. And neither are you. I promise. And you will _never_ be a monster to me."

Naomi heard him sob again, a softer sound against the skin of her neck. He may have said something then, but the words were lost somewhere within their embrace.

_The monster parents tell their children about at night…_

_Maybe not…_


End file.
